


the only proof i need is you

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2820005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. zayn needs to find a way to quiet all the noise in his head. luckily, he has niall to help him with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi friends. i've never done a wip before -- so this is a first! just a heads up before we go into this chapter, there's a homophobic slur, near the beginning. also the explicit rating is for later chapters, just so you all are aware.
> 
> also another trigger warning: there's mention of past attempted rape in later chapters, so please proceed with caution.
> 
> second, i hope you like this! i don't know how many parts there will be, hopefully after i do some planning for this i'll have a better idea by the time i get the second chapter posted! this fic is based off of a book called just listen by sarah dessen. it was one of my favourites throughout my teenage years, and my friend/partner in crime layla suggested i do an au for it, i couldn't resist. so here we are.
> 
> third a big massive i love you thank you for putting up with me to kiwi, ani, blake, emma, and amber for reading over and not allowing me to delete my entire google drive.
> 
> also i haven't forgotten louis! he'll be in the second chapter, promise.

It happens on a Thursday afternoon.

Well, that’s when it more so _begins_ , actually.

Zayn’s late for school. Doniya had insisted on taking the car for some afternoon shopping before one of her shoots, leaving him to catch the city bus and make himself ten minutes late. Thankfully, the women at the front desk are so easily forgiving of him — writing him a note so he can get into Mr. Apers’ first period English Literature class without too much of a fuss.

Except, however, the only seat left is at the front. At the front right. Next to them. Zayn pauses for a moment, uncertain and unsteady on his feet before he pulls his bag up over his shoulder, gripping the strap tight.

“Zayn, are you alright?” Mr. Apers asks, eyeing him with slight concern.

Zayn nods before he slides into the seat. He keeps his head down and doesn't look up, putting his binder down in front of him. They’re continuing their discussion on the acclaimed novel Mansfield Park, by Jane Austen. He only half listens for the rest of the class, doodling along the side of his paper — trying to place himself somewhere else.

It isn’t until the bell rings that Zayn realizes class is over, jumping in his seat while everyone around him starts to collect their things. He follows, books shoved into his bag and trying to get out of there as fast as he can.

“Still can’t believe he still shows his fucking face around here,” someone says behind him, and Zayn winces at the unfortunate familiarity of it. “Fucking faggot.”

Zayn shuts his eyes, tight. He counts down from five; imagines himself somewhere warm — with the sun bright and far away.

 _5… 4..._ He grips his binder tight, phone somewhere else in his bag. It might be dead, he’s not sure he charged it last night. _3… 2… 1._

He exhales, loosening his grip and opening his eyes again. He needs a smoke; that’s the only thing he can think of that will help him calm down. 

There’s a small exit out by the library, one that a handful of people are aware of. Zayn only knows about it because he’d needed to find places to smoke, every other spot already found out by the teachers. He steps out carefully, only having about five minutes until his next class as he fumbles to get a cigarette out.

By some miracle his phone still works, only having about twenty percent battery left as he unlocks the screen. He’s got a text from his mom, and that’s it. Not that he was expecting a text from anyone else, it’s just.

Maybe he’d gotten his hopes up, Zayn thinks as he finds his lighter in his back pocket.

 _Don’t forget about your photoshoot after school! Doniya said she’d pick you up after school and take you home so I’ll drive you to the shoot!_ along with a string of heart and smiling emojis. A part of him wants to think his sister won’t forget to pick him up, but a larger part of him knows better. Regardless, he texts back he’ll be sure to try and have fun, that he’ll see his mom after school.

Behind him, there’s a cough. Zayn turns, seeing a boy with long, curly brown hair and an expectant expression on his face. There’s a moment, and Zayn hesitates, before curly haired boy speaks.

“Can I um — borrow your lighter? I left mine at home,” he asks, taking a step towards Zayn.

It’s a few moments until Zayn spots another person: blonde hair, wearing a snapback. He thinks he knows his name. Niall — maybe? He thinks to himself, handing the other one the lighter. And this one must be Harry, maybe. Fuck, Zayn’s not sure.

“I owe you,” Curly Hair says, grinning. It shocks Zayn, a little, how easily the boys mouth lifts into an effortlessly sincere sort of expression. His in turn is only a slight upturn of his lips — just at the corner. It might look more like a grimace than a smile, Zayn figures.

“Don’t mention it,” Zayn says, cigarette burning between his teeth. He’s got only a few minutes left, putting out whatever is left and tossing it onto the ground before stepping back inside. Blonde Snapback waves, and Zayn blinks — nodding before he lets the door close behind him.

That was weird, Zayn thinks briefly to himself as he makes his way towards his Economics class. There’s a number of students walking past him, conversations moving around him as he tries to stay focused — just reminds himself to breathe.

_Zayn, hey._

He shivers; gets that familiar, gut wrenching sensation like he’s going to be sick in this hallway. Zayn swallows, tries to keep it down best he can as he walks into the classroom. In what used to be his usual corner of the room now sits Perrie — and he can feel her eyes on him as soon as he steps inside.

She’s got her arms crossed over her chest — bleached blonde hair pulled up into a bun, wearing a bright coloured top and acid washed jeans. Zayn bites his lower lip, tries to get the spinning in his head to stop as he slides into a seat. Amy Clarke sits next to him. Zayn’s sure he hasn’t spoken to her since somewhere around his freshman year. And even then, the memory isn’t too clear to him.

He feels so fucking alone, and this classroom is full of kids.

“You’re that guy from that commercial, right?”

It’s not an unusual thing to be approached by his peers, unfortunately. Zayn turns, seeing a girl he doesn’t recognize staring at him intently. He nods, taking in a deep breath.

God, he’d nearly forgotten about that commercial. How could he have forgotten about it? It feels like years ago now — but it’d only been just about five months ago, maybe six.

“Come on down to Cole’s Department store, for all your back to school needs!” There’d been a shot as him as a football player, a musician, prom king — and entire montage of ‘The Boy Who Has It All.’ Which is possibly ironic, now. 

Zayn swears his mother will never be as proud of him as she had been then, watching it for the first time on her television. 

“That’s pretty cool,” the girl says, taking Zayn out of his thoughts. He grips the edge of his desk, steadying himself. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, tasting blood where his teeth are digging into his lower lip. Out of the corner of his eye he can see someone approaching Perrie — moving to sit beside her. Broad shoulders, tall, and oh, God.

There’s that nauseous feeling again — real and gripping at Zayn’s chest as he leans back in his seat. The bell rings once, and he feels someone tap his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” The girl who’d asked him about the commercial asks, eyes wide. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Zayn nods, but it’s not convincing. Mrs. Bell is talking at the front of the class now, asking them to take out their homework so they can all review it before continuing onto their lesson.

He didn’t do the homework. He’s going to be sick.

_Zayn, hey. C’mere._

The world’s spinning, his head feeling like its been put on a top — everything moving too fast for him to keep up with it. He raises his hand, Mrs. Bell calling on him, confused.

“May I be excused?” he asks, mouth suddenly dry. 

Mrs. Bell, to her credit, appears to have noticed the way Zayn’s face has paled noticeably where he’s sitting as she answers, “yes, of course.”

It’s a mere seconds before Zayn’s out the door, bag nearly falling off his shoulder entirely as he leans his forehead against the cool metal of one of the lockers. The hallway is practically empty now — something he considers a small victory so he can continue panicking in peace. 

He’s not sure where to go from here. The first thought is obviously the bathroom, and by the time Zayn reaches it he’s pretty convinced he’s not going back to class. He turns one of the taps — lets the water warm a bit before splashing some onto his face, hands braced against the counter and exhaling slowly.

Everything’s so fucked up. Nothing’s how it used to be, and a part of him knew that would happen. But he also wasn’t as prepared for it as he thought he might be. Then again, there wasn’t any way he could fully prepare himself, if Zayn’s being honest with himself.

Lunch is next, which is a slight relief because it means the day is already half finished. 

The library’s quiet, not a lot of people in there as Zayn picks the table nearest to the back. He takes off his bag, putting it down carefully. There’s a number of things he could be doing for any of his classes, but he can’t manage to think of a single assignment. 

Doniya texted she might be late picking him up, which isn’t a surprise. With a family owning three cars it’s some sort of strange coincidence he can never have one when he needs to be somewhere.

Zayn pauses, somewhere between opening his english notes and texting his sister back when he hears a familiar voice.

“— You just need to have the right variable, understand?”

He looks over, seeing none other than Liam Payne sitting a few tables down, tutoring. He’s been doing it since their Junior year, so it’s not a surprise he’s in here by any means. Zayn looks at him for a few moments, blinking.

He hasn’t spoken to Liam in what, almost years now? Which always felt so strange, considering Liam was Zayn’s best friend since they’d been six and inseparable. Now they’re eighteen and Zayn couldn’t even tell you what classes he’s taking this year. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about Liam over the years, because he has. But it’s just now the gap between them seems more noticeable — large and something that Zayn never wanted to happen between them.

It’s about half a minute until Zayn looks over to who Liam’s talking too. That blonde boy from outside, with his curly haired friend. 

Niall, Zayn reminds himself. His name is Niall. Niall Horan, if he isn’t mistaken. Zayn isn’t really one for gossip, but that’s just the thing that surrounds Niall and his rather mysterious life here. 

He’s older than all of them, by about a year. He was held back — apparently needing to drop out when he was sent to live with his very strict Aunt and Uncle back in Maine, a little far from Seattle, which is apparently what Niall’s parents had wanted. He’d been sent after getting caught taking part in a break in on one of those big, expensive houses along the river.

Zayn only knows that because Josh, someone he used to be friends with. His dad is a cop, said he was the one who brought them into the station. According to them Niall is a reckless, violent, and unpredictable youth. Though now where he’s sitting across from Liam, Zayn can’t see it. All he can see is the brown hair underneath the bottled blonde — a few freckles noticeably dotting along his nose, scrunched where he’s reading something over in the textbook. 

It’s not his place to decide who Niall is, even though this town’s already decided for him. He has no idea anything about this boy, a mystery just a few tables over. 

Deciding he’s probably stared too much already, Zayn looks back down at his notes. Today’s are sparse, nothing really coherent written as he thumbs the corner of one of the pages. 

Liam’s talking again, hushed and hardly audible in the silence of the rest of the overly large library. There’s a bit of sunlight coming through the window — warm and welcomed on Zayn’s back as he runs a hand through his hair tiredly. 

He misses Liam, now that he lets himself think it. Remembers the nights they’d stayed up late in Zayn’s room — sitting under his blankets, reading comic books together. On Saturday mornings they’d make a trip out to the comic book store with the money they’d saved up, and spend it on candy or whatever comics they didn’t have, whichever one was more important at the time. 

He always thought it was funny The Hulk was Zayn’s favourite superhero, would tell him that any chance he got. “He’s this big, scary creature,” Liam would say, watching Zayn with a curiously fond expression on his face. “But you’re not scary, Zayn.”

He might’ve been right, then. But Zayn feels like things are different now — like he hardly knows himself anymore. As if he’s never really known who he is, feeling like anything he’s done was for the benefit of someone else, or being someone else he isn’t. When he was with Liam, it wasn’t like that. He wasn’t Zayn the kid who occasionally models in Sears catalogues and department store ads. He wasn’t Zayn, the kid who went to parties and dated Perrie Edwards. He was just — Zayn.

Things were so uncomplicated, then. It’s amazing how they’ve all managed to fuck up and make Zayn’s life feel like it’s turned completely upside down. 

The last time Zayn had been at Liam’s house was for his fifteenth birthday. Zayn had gotten him the latest Iron Man comic and drawn a picture of Liam as Tony Stark for his card. It wasn’t much, but it was a lot to Liam — whose entire face lit up when he saw it, holding it in his hands excitedly.

That was in grade eight, when Zayn promised Liam no matter who they’d meet in high school — he’d always be his best friend. A small bit of guilt turns in his stomach, remembering the night after their graduation — wandering around Liam’s backyard.

“You know, Zayn,” Liam said, hands in his pockets. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

Zayn smiled, nodding in agreement. 

He wonders if Liam remembers that night. If he remembers all the nights they’d spent together. Zayn’s never had another friend like Liam, knows he never will. 

“I’ll see you next week, yeah?” Liam’s saying, him and Niall getting up from their table. 

Zayn averts his gaze back to his book, unsure if Liam’s noticed him in here or not. When he looks up a few moments later, however, he finds Liam’s gaze already on him. He swallows, weirdly nervous; especially when he realizes Liam isn’t smiling. 

He’s staring at Zayn, is the thing. Like he somehow knows, just from standing a few feet away. Feeling exposed and still a little shaky from before, Zayn gives him a small, tentative wave before opening his book.

That could’ve gone better, he thinks to himself as he hears the door open and close. And, ignoring the urge to hit his head against the table repeatedly — Zayn opts out to reading a bit more of Mansfield Park.

Lunch used to be something Zayn looked forward to during his days at school. Now, he dreads it. But apparently he needs to eat, according to his mother, which is his the only reason he goes into the always overly crowded cafeteria. 

There’s the usual sandwiches, pudding cups, and small salad that gets put onto his tray as Zayn goes through the line. 

He used to always have a place to sit, never needing to doubt that until recently. The rest of them still sit there — talking loudly with one another, the occasional outbursts of laughter from Perrie or Jesy easily recognizable from anywhere. 

What’s the most unfortunate thing, maybe, is that even the cafeteria staff have taken to pitying Zayn — putting an extra pudding cup on his tray, or an added carton of chocolate milk. He thanks them quietly, taking his tray and making his way out into the hallway.

People eat out here all the time, is something he’d never really noticed before. But it’s nice; welcomed, even, compared to the zoo-like atmosphere inside the cafeteria.

He crosses his legs over one another, his tray resting easily in his lap as Zayn picks at his food — not really all that hungry. No one really talks to him out here, and he’s not sure if he enjoys that aspect or not. Mostly he likes it, except on the days he feels more lonely and outcasted than usual. Then he supposes he doesn’t enjoy it as much, back against the brick wall and itching for a cigarette.

With no real hope of finishing his food he leaves his tray on one of the garbage bins near the doors, making his way outside. He fishes around in his bag for his box of cigarettes, only to find it empty. A small bit of panic starts in his chest. Zayn tries to ignore, takes in a deep breath. 

He doesn’t need the cigarette, he tells himself — trying to make it sound convincing in his own thoughts. It’s not, not by any stretch of the imagination — and he’s regretting not going out last night and getting another box when the car was at home. 

Maybe he’ll take a bus home. He can’t, he realizes after a few moments. His mom is home, and she’ll be pissed at him skipping school for an afternoon. 

Zayn feels fucking trapped here. Like there’s no real way out.

Lunch is nearly over by the time he gets inside, a few students moving out of the cafeteria and into the hallways to their lockers. That anxious, panicked feeling is still in his chest — but he pushes it down, tells himself he’s fine.

“Should probably kick the habit, you know.”

He still sounds the same, even in this cramped hallway. Zayn wraps an arm around his middle, shaking his head. “I’m going to be late,” he says, trying to push past the figure in front of him.

“Could get the patch, or something. Hear that works the best,” he continues, and Zayn hates him. Has never hated anyone in his whole life, but Zayn hates him. Knows that without a fucking doubt. 

“Get out of my way,” Zayn says, jaw clenched.

He just grins, because he’s an asshole. Like he’s somehow won. “Perrie and I are just looking out for you, you know.”

Zayn sees her, beside him. Can smell her strawberry shampoo — the kind she used to leave at his house when she stayed over on weekends. It makes his fist ball up at his sides, like he could almost punch it through the brick wall. 

“Get the _fuck_ out of my way,” Zayn adds, keeping his voice even.

By this point there’s a crowd forming around them, all whispering to one another. “What are you going to do about it,” he asks, still watching Zayn — never taking his eyes off him.

Something snaps inside Zayn, seeing him there. Maybe because he’s stressed, possibly because he hasn’t slept in what feels like weeks. Or maybe it’s just because he’s out of fucking cigarettes. But before Zayn can give it a second thought he’s stepping forward, and shoving him firmly.

The crowd lets out a collective gasp, a few people cheering. Like it’s some sort of prospect, them having this out in a hallway, of all places. As if they’re a form of entertainment, some sick way for these kids to have something to talk about later at night, when they’re all home. 

“Alright, if that’s how you want to do this now,” he says.

Zayn shakes his head, but there’s no real warning before there’s hands on his shoulders — shoving him back, the voices getting louder. He knows he can’t win, knows he isn’t strong enough, or big enough. So Zayn braces himself best he can, shoving back and watching him stumble. 

He watches, as his fist raises in the air — aiming directly for Zayn, but. It never comes. Before anything can really come of this, there are hands on Zayn’s shoulders — pulling him back.

There’s more voices, all loud and filling Zayn’s head as he’s pulled outside. The doors are swung open, and the fresh air hits his chest like a fucking brick as he coughs out a breath. 

“What were you thinking?” an unfamiliar voice asks Zayn, sharp and breathless. 

It’s Niall, Zayn realizes after a few moments. He blinks, rubbing a hand along his arms as he tries to calm the frantic beating of his heart in his chest. “Getting into a fight like that in the middle of the hallway?”

Zayn braces his hands against his thighs. “I — wasn’t,” he says finally.

“Fucking right you weren’t,” Niall says, giving Zayn a look.

The crowd is moving now, Zayn can’t see Perrie or any of them anymore as he does his best to straighten out his shirt. He isn’t sure what else to say to Niall, isn’t sure what to do in general, standing out here.

And, as if reading Zayn’s mind, Niall extends a silent cigarette to him. Zayn pauses, eyebrows raised curiously as he reaches for it. “You smoke?” Zayn asks, taking his lighter out of his back pocket.

Niall shakes his head. “Used too. Just carry them around with me now. Kind of like a comfort thing,” he answers. It’s a little surprising to Zayn, how much honesty is in his voice. Probably more than he’s heard his entire life, just in one simple answer from Niall. And he doesn’t even know Zayn at all. “Plus then, you know. Whenever Harry forgets his pack at home he can just take some from me,” Niall adds, and when Zayn looks over at him he’s smiling.

Zayn smiles back, if only slightly forced, before he exhales a mouthful of smoke. He should get back in — not be late or skip another class today. 

“Thank you for, you know. Back there,” Zayn finally manages to say.

All he gets back in response from Niall is a small shrug, like it’s not a big deal. “Just didn’t want to see things get too bad,” he says, eyes focused on Zayn. It’s slightly unnerving, having someone’s full attention. Back home Zayn’s got his older sisters — so it’s almost like he’s invisible sometimes, which is usually nice, but it’s different with Niall. Makes Zayn feel like he has to plan what he says before he says it. “Plus — I hear models’ faces are pretty important, so.”

Despite having been told a handful of model jokes in his day, Zayn finds himself laughing. Just a small little puff of air escaping his lips as he flicks the end of his cigarette. “Wouldn’t be all that bad if I could take a break from it for a while,” he admits.

He hasn’t told anyone that. Hasn’t even mentioned the fact that he’s sick of modelling, wants to spend his time doing other things. Like art. Or anything else but standing in front of a camera on a Saturday morning when he could be sleeping. Be a normal teenager, whatever that means.

“And while I’m sure a broken nose would get you out of it, it would still hurt like hell,” Niall says, getting Zayn out of his head. 

“I’ll take the tip to heart,” Zayn says, putting out the end of his cigarette and tossing the rest of it onto the rain soaked ground. 

“That’s the spirit,” Niall encourages, holding the door open so Zayn can step back inside.

People give him looks, but there’s no comments — or any sort of retaliation from anyone, which is good. Makes him feel a little less on edge, hearing Niall walking behind him.

They say their quick goodbyes, the bell ringing as Zayn makes his way to third period. The rest of the day goes by normally. Or, as normally as it could, really. No one else tried to fight him, which some would consider a good thing. 

Liam’s in his fourth period physics class, which is interesting. Zayn sits across from him on the small tables, and finds Liam looking at him one time he glanced over. They hadn’t said anything — but Zayn’s sure he didn’t seem Liam frown, or scowl, which he takes as a good sign. Means he doesn’t despise and hate Zayn, at the very least. 

He does think about Niall, despite telling himself it’s probably not a good thing he’s thinking about Niall. It’s nothing really serious, mostly harmless. Trying to piece together who he thinks Niall is, how he compares with the rumours about him. He doesn’t, Zayn concludes. Doesn’t fit the rumours — though Zayn doubts he even knows the rumours about himself. 

Liam dropped his pencil once, and Zayn had reached to pick it up. He’d given it back to Liam, and that’s when he’d noticed Harry sitting beside him. Harry had waved, giving that same, effortless grin — which Zayn had returned with his own, small smile. Maybe this is what it’s like to have friends again, he’d thought briefly to himself. The feeling soon faded and he’d had to look at his physics textbook again, but. It was a nice thought while it lasted.

Now he’s standing out in the parking lot, waiting for Doniya. She isn’t picking up her phone, nor is she replying to texts, so it’s all looking a little grim from where he’s standing. 

His photo shoot isn’t for another hour, but he would like to be able to eat something before his mom takes him. Zayn groans to no one in particular, waiting for his phone to buzz with some sort of lead on his sister’s whereabouts. 

There’s nothing. He’s about ready to throw his phone into the middle of the street.

He doesn’t, if only because he knows his mother will be less than impressed with him if he does. 

“Need a ride?”

Zayn turns, apprehensive, seeing an old, rather beaten-down car beside him. It’s blue, the paint faded and the engine loud. But sure enough there’s Niall, window rolled down and wearing sunglasses even though it’s cloudy out.

“I, um,” Zayn starts, glancing around awkwardly. Still no sign of Doniya. He’s beginning to lose all hope. “Yeah, maybe. If it’s not — you know. Too much trouble.”

Niall shakes his head. “It isn’t. Get in,” he offers again, motioning to the front seat.

And so, without any hesitation or doubt, Zayn does. It’s the first thing he’s done today that is done purely of his own accord and choice, closing the door behind him.

— 

The first thing he notices about Niall’s car is a lot of take out bags. The second is clothing and shoes that certainly do not belong to Niall, judging on the size of them. And the third is a number of blank CD's.

Like, hundreds of them.

 _Roadtrip_ , _Harry_ , _Angry_ , _Week 26_ — are only some of the titles written messily on them, as Zayn puts his bag on his lap. “You can put it on the ground,” Niall says, pulling out onto the road. “The CD's aren’t important.”

Zayn swallows, doing as Niall says. He’s a little concerned the car is going to fall apart but doesn’t say this, instead watching as Niall puts one hand on the steering wheel.

“Where do you live?” he asks, looking at Zayn briefly.

“Just on Coulder,” Zayn says. “Number thirty-five,” he adds.

Niall whistles, low. “Fancy house,” he says. Zayn shakes his head.

“My dad just liked it, I guess. Had it built just how he wanted it and stuff,” Zayn says simply, like it’s not a big thing. It kind of is, though — because their house was being hammered and worked on at six in the morning till six at night for almost two years straight. “It’s the one with all the glass.”

A beat passes until Niall gets a look of recognition on his face. “Shit, yeah. I know that house. It was in a bunch of magazines and stuff, wasn’t it?”

Zayn nods. ‘ _The Family in the Glass House_ ’ the headline had read, and they weren’t wrong. Always on display to be seen. His head is pounding; he needs another cigarette. “What’s with all the CD's?” he finally asks, because it seems appropriate to ask, given that he’s surrounded by them.

Niall’s grinning where he’s looking at the road. “I do a radio show, every Sunday,” he says. “Me and my friend Liam do it, together. So they’re just songs we play sometimes, on the radio.”

“Liam — Payne?” Zayn asks, slowly. Niall nods, enthusiastic. 

“Yeah, we’ve been doing it for four months now, or something. Do you know him?”

Zayn presses his thumb into his thigh, watches the nail go white. “Kind of. Know of him, mostly.”

“He’s so fucking cool, like. Him and Harry have the best ideas. We meet together once a week and come up with a set list, then Liam and I do the show on Sunday while Harry does the sound and stuff,” Niall explains, pulling onto Zayn’s street.

“Sounds cool,” Zayn says.

When Niall pulls up into his driveway, Doniya is nowhere in sight. His mom’s car is there, his dad’s gone — and Zayn's got a little more than half an hour to get ready to go. “Are you just saying that?” he asks, pulling his sunglasses down.

Zayn stares at him for a few moments, unsure. “What do you mean,” he asks flatly.

“Does it actually sound cool, or does it sound lame,” Niall presses. He doesn’t sound mad, or anything. Just genuinely curious.

“I mean, it sounds cool.” Zayn clarifies, but he isn’t really clarifying anything.

Niall smiles, amused. “Listen to it.”

Zayn picks up his bag. “What time is it?”

“Six am,” Niall answers.

Zayn makes a face. He’s about to say no, because why would be wake up at six am on a day he doesn’t have to go to school to listen to the radio, when he sees the way Niall’s watching him. “I um, sure. I’ll listen to it,” he says finally, because it feels like it’s the only way he’s going to be let out of his vehicle is by agreeing to these terms.

“Good. I’ll expect a full report. Don’t miss any details. If you hate a song — tell me. If you like it, tell me. If you don’t really care about the song, also tell me. Any and all pieces of information are very vital to this, Zayn.”

It takes a lot of effort for Zayn not to smile, listening to him. “You said my name,” is what he settles on saying.

Niall pauses, looking confused. “Is Zayn not your name?”

“It is,” Zayn says. “It’s just — I never, introduced myself.”

It’s the first time Niall looks something close to embarrassed, sitting in the driver's seat. “Shit, you’re — right.”

“I mean it’s fine,” Zayn’s quick to add, seeing Niall relax a little. “And I’ll be sure to give you the full review. Likes, dislikes, and all.”

Niall grins, bright and with that same sincerity as he’d had at lunch. “Perfect. I look forward to your full review then.”

“Thanks for the ride,” Zayn says, giving a small wave goodbye as he walks out onto the driveway. Niall pulls out, driving off down the road as he makes his way up to the front door.

He’s not even two steps in when he hears a voice, “who was that?”

Zayn’s mom is in the doorway to the kitchen, Safaa sitting in one of the chairs in the living room. Zayn had seen her in when Niall had pulled up in front of the house. “Just a friend,” he says simply, taking off his coat.

His mom looks at him for a moment, as if unsure if she should believe him or not. “Does this friend have a name?”

“Niall. His name is Niall.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zayn and niall become better friends -- with the added company of harry and liam. a bit of flirting, going out for breakfast, and even some louis.
> 
> i had this with my first chapter, but putting it with all of them i think. trigger warning: there's mention of past attempted rape in later chapters, so please proceed with caution.
> 
> (i'm really bad at chapter summaries, ahhhh. hopefully it'll improve with the more parts i write!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big ups to leighanne, layla, kiwi, blake, and ani for reading over for me i love youuuuuuuuuu.

It’s not like Zayn intended to be Niall’s friend. That sort of just happened on its own, somehow. 

Well, it starts when Zayn goes to lunch on the day after his photo shoot. Which had gone as they usually do — he gets his clothes and makeup done, has a run through on the poses and props, and gets put in front of a camera. His mom had watched on with her usual proud expression — nearly clapping at the end of it all, pulling Zayn close to her side when they’d gone out for dinner after.

Doniya had met them for dinner, apologetic to Zayn about “losing track of time” so by the time she’d remembered to pick him up, the shoot had started. Zayn shrugged it off, told her it was fine. He left out the part where he was annoyed and frustrated, because it seemed useless to bring it up when they’d been sitting at dinner after the fact.

She’d gotten a salad, Zayn and his mom their usual dinners. The unusual part about dinner, possibly, was watching his sister eat. Or, not eat. Mostly she’d just moved her food around her plate while she talked animatedly — telling her mom about the outfits she’d bought for some shoot next week.

That’s the difference between him and his sister, maybe. She’s always so overly excited for shoots — loves them, is even happier if they’re a commercial. Whereas Zayn hasn’t really gotten excited over any sort of modelling thing for a while. But he’d listened, stayed quiet where he’d been sitting.

So when he’s scanning the cafeteria that lunch period, about to give up and go sit out in the hallway, it’s a bit of surprise when he hears a familiar voice calling, “hey, Zayn!”

He turns slightly, seeing Niall waving him over where him and Harry are sitting at a table. Zayn blinks, holding his tray before he takes a step toward them. Niall’s laughing at something Harry’s said, before looking back at Zayn again.

“What, did you think I was talking to another Zayn?” Niall asks as Zayn approaches. There’s a seat beside Niall, so he takes it.

Roast beef sandwiches, salad, and a bag of chips. Not really that hungry he takes a bite out of the corner of his sandwich, glancing up to see Harry already looking at him. “I don’t know,” Zayn says slowly, seeing Niall smirking at him out of the corner of his eye. “Could be to anyone else.”

Niall shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, “we don’t let just _anyone_ sit at our table while planning our radio show.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his water. Harry’s looking down at a pad of paper, a rather concentrated look on his features. He turns to Niall, a frown turning down his lips. “We aren’t doing this song,” he says, very serious.

Niall pauses, holding up a finger to Zayn that he’ll return to this conversation later — before following where Harry’s pointing on the page. “Why not? It’s catchy,” Niall argues. “You’re the one who made me play that chocolate song for three weeks in a row, need I remind you.”

“Need I remind _you_ , people like that song,” Harry says, defensive. “What people do not like, is Ariana Grande. I refuse to put this on a playlist.”

“What are you, a defender for the people?” Niall asks, flicking Harry’s arm.

“I am if it’s about what they listen to at six in the fucking morning on a Sunday,” Harry says, apparently very stubborn on this.

Zayn hides his smile behind a chip. Niall notices, winks at Zayn before saying, “you’re the only one who likes that song on the air three Sundays in a row.”

Harry makes a face, but doesn’t retaliate. “So, Zayn.” He starts, hands folded on the table. “Tell us about yourself.”

“What he means is, tell us what music you like,” Niall helpfully interjects, crossing his arms behind his head.

Zayn snorts, playing with the cap on his water bottle. “I don’t — know?” he says, scratching the back of his neck. 

Harry and Niall exchange looks, giving Zayn a strange feeling that he gave a wrong answer. “I listen to the radio mostly, when I’m not doing anything,” he adds. Still no response. “I like NSYNC?”

There’s a brief pause until Harry puts a hand over his face, making a strangled sort of sound. “Hopeless,” he mutters.

Niall, however, nods rather seriously from beside Zayn before he asks, “Tearing up my heart or bye bye bye?”

“Bye bye bye, no question,” Zayn says without needing any time to think it over. 

There’s a small group of people walking by, when Niall puts a hand on Zayn’s shoulder. The contact is quick — but firm, Niall’s hand gripping him for a moment. Zayn falters, nearly dropping his sandwich — inhaling sharply and feeling like he’s been kicked right in the chest. He flinches, but it’s hardly noticeable, just a small, sharp movement. Harry doesn’t notice — still going on about the set list, as Zayn tries to put himself together. Like the wind’s been knocked out of him, and he needs to make sure he can breathe again.

Feeling warm all over, and a little embarrassed, he looks over at Niall. To his surprise, Niall doesn’t say anything — just drops his hand without a question or comment, which sends a little relief to still the panic in Zayn’s chest. “I do believe this is a beginning of a beautiful friendship, Mr. Malik,” he says, and Zayn forces a small smile.

“Actually, I think you need a new education in music, Mr. Malik,” Harry says, chewing on the end of his pen. He can’t tell if Harry’s joking or being serious, but regardless he keeps eating his lunch. Niall scoffs, loudly.

“You listen to Lana Del Rey, you literally have no room to talk right now,” Niall rebuts. 

“Sing a little Blue Jeans for me,” Zayn says, leaning back in his chair. Harry flips him off, crossing something off on the paper with a lot of effort. 

“He can’t sit with us anymore,” Harry says, not looking up; but Zayn can see him smiling a little.

Niall leans toward Zayn. It’s close enough that Zayn can make out the smell Niall’s cologne, sweet and making Zayn’s heart pound, “that’s Harry speak for he likes you.”

“Good to know,” Zayn says, and he watches as Niall’s eyes linger on his face, before turning back to Harry’s impossible writing.

Or, Niall calls his writing impossible, anyway. And for the rest of the lunch period, it’s nice, not sitting alone — in a cold, cramped hallway, with his lunch tray on his lap, but instead at an actual table, listening to Harry and Niall bicker for the rest of their lunch period until the bell rings.

“You’re going to listen, right?” Niall asks, as they’re walking toward the doors. 

Zayn looks over at him, Harry already heading to his next class — apparently needing to stop at his locker along the way. They’re walking beside each other, sides just about pressed up against one another. He nods. “Said I would, didn’t I?” he asks, and Zayn swears he can see Niall blush. 

“Just — you know, making sure,” Niall says, tugging on the sleeve of his sweater. Zayn keeps a straight face, trying to be serious.

“I’m sure you have a lot of listeners, I’ll hardly be noticed,” Zayn adds, knocking his shoulder against Niall’s.

Niall laughs, the sound loud over the movement of people going past them. “I’m going to let you believe that,” he says, and Zayn feels himself smile.

“So I’ve been um, wondering,” Niall starts after a few moments of silence pass between them.

Zayn looks over at him, confused. “Yes?” he asks, waiting for Niall to continue.

“I was just — you know. Since you’re going to be listening, and all, I sort of. Was thinking it would be a good idea to get your number, for you know. Review purposes.” Niall finishes, scratching the back of his neck.

“Review purposes,” Zayn repeats. Niall swats at him, embarrassed. “But just for the radio show, right?”

“Right,” Niall says simply.

“Well then, I’m sure I can give it to you,” Zayn teases.

“Oh my God,” Niall says, laughing quietly — probably at himself. “Getting Zayn Malik’s number. I’m honoured, truly.”

“The sarcasm isn’t necessary,” Zayn says, motioning toward Niall. “C’mon then.”

Niall looks at him, brows furrowed, before putting two and two together and taking his phone out of his pocket. He gives it to Zayn, who in turn puts his number into Niall’s contact list. “There,” Zayn says, handing it back.

“Thank you,” Niall says, pocketing his phone with that embarrassed flush still on his cheeks. It’s cute, Zayn thinks to himself. 

He’s not looking forward to physics, Zayn realizes as they start up the stairs. He doesn’t even notice Niall’s walked him to his next class until they’re there, standing in the doorway. Harry’s already at his table with Liam, the pad of paper out and Liam’s saying something Harry clearly disagrees with — shaking his head. Niall glances over at Zayn, mock serious, “Make sure Harry doesn’t do anything drastic, right? I want Liam safe when he finds out we really _are_ playing Ariana Grande on Sunday.”

Zayn pauses watching Harry mid-rant, looking back at Niall. Finds himself looking at how pink his lips look, especially when his tongue moves over his lower one slowly. Or how he’s got his hands crossed under his armpits, body pulled together but somehow managing to look relaxed while doing so. His eyes are blue, Zayn registers. He’d never noticed that before.

Probably because he hadn’t been close enough to realize that, till now. Zayn clears his throat, hoping Niall didn’t notice his excessive staring. And if Niall did, he doesn’t comment on it. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says, and Niall nods.

“Knew I could count on you, Malik,” he says with a final wave, giving Harry a stern look before walking off down the hallway to his own class.

Zayn moves to sit in his usual chair, beside Liam. He puts his bag down, taking out his things when there’s a voice beside him. “Liam, you know Zayn. Right?”

He looks up, seeing Liam and Harry staring at him. Liam’s eyes are wide — like he’s nervous or something. “Yeah,” Liam says slowly, and only Zayn picks up on the sadness in his voice, “I know Zayn.”

“Excellent,” Harry says, apparently not catching on to the strange tension between Zayn and Liam. Which is probably for the better, Zayn tells himself. “Zayn is our newest and biggest fan.”

Liam pauses. “Fan of —” 

“The radio show,” Harry clarifies quickly. 

“Ah,” Liam says, giving Zayn a small, awkward smile. “Well that’s good, then.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says.

Harry looks between them, the teacher now talking. “You can tell us how you like it after,” he whispers over Liam, who’s focused at the front of the room. 

It’s something, Zayn thinks briefly. Maybe him and Liam can’t be how they were before, but they can be something.

— 

5:49 am Niall Horan: _You better be awake !_

5:54 am Niall Horan: _Zaynie !!!!!_

5:59 am Niall Horan: _Rise and Shine !_

Zayn wakes up to a string of texts on Sunday morning and his first thought is why on earth he’s being tortured this early on a weekend. Then he remembers, groaning into his pillow. The radio show.

 _immmmmmmm awake_ he sends to Niall. 6:01 am, he registers on his phone before reaching over to pick up his alarm clock. He moves his fingers to the tuner, finding the station. For a few moments there’s static, and he’s worried he hasn’t found the right one until —

“ _Good morning Seattle, bright and early on this Sunday_ ,” Liam’s voice greets warmly, and Zayn closes his eyes.

“ _It’s a bit early for some or our listeners_ ,” Niall’s voice adds, and Zayn lets himself think Niall’s talking about him, now. “ _But we are grateful for you tuning in and listening to us this morning_.”

He leans back against his pillow. Everyone else is asleep, most likely. He can’t imagine his sisters being up this early. “ _To start us off we have a song I picked for this rainy day_ ,” Niall continues. Zayn swallows. “ _It’s by a guy named Ed Sheeran, who I’ve been listening to a lot lately —_ ”

“ _A lot is an understatement_ ,” Liam teases, but Niall continues.

“ _Here’s Ed Sheeran with I’m A Mess to start you off_ ,” Niall says, before it fades into the song.

Zayn’s never listened to Ed Sheeran before. Hasn’t listened to a lot of music, actually, now that he thinks about it. And when the singer starts, he gets another text.

 _Sure you Didnt txt me that still asleep ?_ Niall sends with a winking emoji.

He turns on his side, looking at his screen. _pretty sure. im listening to a man called ed sheerun ive never heard before, so_

It’s a mere seconds until Niall’s typing bubble appears at the bottom of their conversation. Zayn waits. _Sheeran , Malik . SheerAn_

He shakes his head, thankful Niall can’t see the most likely embarrassed smile on his face as he types out a response. _right, well. we cant all be music know-it-alls_

 _Easy There_ Niall sends back, but Zayn can tell there’s no real heat behind it.

The song fades and they’re talking again, something about a band Zayn doesn’t know. He can hear movement from down the hallway. Probably his mom, she always wakes up early no matter what day of the week it is. He isn’t sure he’ll be able to sleep when this is done, so maybe he’ll go down into the kitchen and help her with whatever breakfast she’ll be making for them.

Another song’s playing, one Zayn doesn’t know — which is something he’ll have to get used to, he supposes. His phone buzzes again.

_Thoughts so far ?_

_i keep my full review until the end_

_Ah , a real Professional_

So, he stays in bed until it’s finished. It was nice, for the most part — besides not knowing a single song that was played, except Ariana Grande at the end. Zayn assumes that was done at the expense of bribing Harry at some cost.

Not even a minute after Niall and Liam have signed off the air, his phone rings. “Are you stalking me now?” Zayn asks, looking at the caller ID before picking up.

“I told you,” Niall’s voice comes impatiently, “this is very important.”

Zayn snorts, pulling at the bottom of his sweater. “It was good,” he tells Niall honestly. “I mean — I only knew one song, but I liked it.”

“Not very in depth but I’ll take it,” Niall says. “I have an idea though, if you want to hear it.”

Zayn stands from his bed, going to find something to wear from his dresser. He hums, waiting for Niall to continue. “Well, since it’s now seven in the morning, on a Sunday, and I practically forced you to listen to my radio show for an hour —”

“No one had a gun to my head, Niall,” Zayn cuts in. Niall ignores him.

“I was thinking you could come out for breakfast, with us,” Niall finishes.

“Us?” Zayn asks, pulling out a pair of ripped jeans and a t shirt.

“Yeah. Me, Harry, and Liam,” Niall says. “I can pick you up in ten minutes?”

He looks at the time. “Sure — if you, you know. Want me there,” Zayn says.

“I want you there. Text me your address, we’re getting in the car now!”

Zayn texts Niall his address as requested, taking a jacket and his wallet before he makes his way downstairs. His mom is in the kitchen, with a mug of tea and the paper in front of her where she’s reading, still wearing her bathrobe. It’s a moment before she notices Zayn, glancing up with a smile on her face — always warm, gentle.

“You’re up early,” she says. “Everything alright?”

Zayn nods, taking a few steps into the kitchen. “I’m um, going out. With some friends,” he says, watching her. 

“Perrie?” she asks, sounding hopeful. Zayn shakes his head.

“No, it’s — that guy that dropped me off the other day? Niall,” he responds, tapping a finger against the countertop.

“Just be back in time to go to your shoot, alright?” she says.

Zayn nods, walking toward her as he presses a kiss to her head. His shoot isn’t until two, so he’s got time. And by the time he steps out onto the porch, he sees Niall’s car pull in. 

He feels a bit weird, seeing Liam in the backseat. But he doesn’t say anything about this, watching as Niall rolls his window down, “Harry took the front, because he’s an asshole.”

Harry makes a noise of protest, Zayn shaking his head. “It’s fine. I’ll just — sit in the back.”

He opens the door, getting in beside Liam as Niall pulls out of the driveway. “So you live here?” Harry asks, looking back at Zayn briefly. Zayn can see Niall roll his eyes from the rearview mirror, sunglasses on top of his head. “What do you think, Harry,” Niall asks flatly. Harry pinches his elbow.

“Yeah,” Zayn says before they can continue bickering anymore. “We built it when I was five, I can’t really remember.”

“My mom used to be like, obsessed with your house,” Harry continues, not commenting on Niall and Liam’s groans in response. “Still has that article on it, I think. You can see like — everything, can’t you?”

“Mostly, yeah,” Zayn says. He can see Niall giving him an apologetic look, but just shrugs. “Bit weird sometimes, but you get used to it.”

“Anyway,” Niall cuts in. “Enough interrogating Zayn about his house, Harry.”

“It’s because for a brief time, Harry wanted to be an architect,” Liam adds.

“What was that like, two weeks?” Niall asks.

“Excuse me for having dreams,” Harry snaps, reaching back to pinch Liam’s knee. 

They drive a little longer before pulling into a parking lot of what looks to be a small diner. Zayn glances around, a bit of rain now falling as they all get out. He’s never been here, doesn’t think he’s even heard of this place as they step inside. There’s a number of people crowded into the booths. Niall seems to notice Zayn’s confusion, walking beside him as he asks, “you ever been here before?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Where even are we,” he asks, and Niall’s eyes widen.

“We, my new friend Zayn, are in a Waffle House,” Niall says, sliding in next to Zayn in a booth. 

“If I could marry a Waffle House, I would,” Harry says dreamily from across the booth.

Liam rolls his eyes, opening his menu. Niall hands one to Zayn, all of them sitting in a brief silence while ordering a round of coffee.

“What do you got going on today?” Niall asks, looking at Zayn. Liam and Harry are arguing on what sort of toppings they should get for their waffles, as Zayn looks at him.

Zayn takes a drink of his coffee. Too hot, not enough sugar. “Got a shoot later today,” he says, embarrassed. 

Niall hums, holding his mug in both hands. “Doesn’t sound too bad,” he says.

“For a winter line,” Zayn says. He isn’t even sure why he’s telling Niall any of this. It’s not really all that important.

There’s a moment when Niall looks like he’s going to say something, but stops himself when their waitress comes back — taking their orders. When she walks away Harry looks over at Niall, starting in on the playlist. Zayn stays quiet, doesn’t really have much to say on the subject, until he hears his name.

“Well, what did Zayn think?”

It’s Liam who’s asking, a curious expression on his face. Harry nods, doesn’t argue with his hands crossed in front of himself. Niall nods for Zayn to say something. 

“Think about… what,” Zayn asks, skeptical.

Harry smirks, folding the napkin in his hands. “The show,” he says. “Niall says you gave a very — short review.”

Niall holds up his hands in defence, and Zayn finds himself smiling behind his mug as he takes another drink. “It’s hard to give a review when I didn’t know any of the songs,” he says.

Harry shakes his head. “Better that way, actually. Were they too boring? Too many of them? Not enough of them? Did you have to hear Liam and Niall talk too much?”

“Can never hear us talk too much,” Niall says confidently.

“I mean — it was good. I liked most of the songs,” Zayn says. 

Liam and Harry exchange looks. “Most?”

“You know, the ones with all the guitars. The slower ones,” Zayn continues. Niall snorts into the back of his hand. “Sounded like they were whining a bit, I don’t know.”

Even Liam looks amused, one of his arms over the edge of the booth and nearly touching Harry’s shoulders, “those would be Harry’s choices.”

Harry looks mildly offended. “I did like Ariana Grande though,” Zayn adds.

“For fuck’s _sake_ ,” Harry mutters, flicking a napkin at Zayn.

Niall grins. The waitress comes by, putting down their plates as Harry starts in on next week. Zayn moves his leg a little, nudges Niall’s own from underneath the table. Niall doesn’t look away from his plate, just smiles. Keeps his knee there; it’s warm and steady, Zayn thinks to himself. Like some sort of comfort, as he starts cutting his waffle. 

And even while Harry argues the merits of ‘whining in songs’ for the rest of breakfast, Zayn can take it, if only because he’s got Niall’s knee pressed against his own.

— 

“Thanks for the ride,” Zayn says as he gets out, Niall shrugging from the driver’s side.

“This can become a tradition if you listen every week,” Harry says from the back seat, though it sounds somehow like a strangely worded threat. 

Zayn nods, looking over at Niall. “I’ll talk to you later,” he says, Niall backing out. Zayn glances at Liam, briefly, before they pull out onto the road once more.

The first thing Zayn hears when he steps inside is music from his sisters’ room, as usual. He kicks off his shoes, tired and wanting a nap before he goes off to his shoot.

He takes a few steps up the stairs, into the living room — and that’s when Zayn sees him. Louis, sitting in one of the chairs. He pauses, as if making sure he isn’t seeing things.

“What are you —” Zayn starts, but he’s cut off when his mother comes in, mug at hand.

“I was just going to call you,” she says, bright and cheery. “Louis stopped in, while you were out. I told him he could stay for a bit.”

Zayn swallows, his mother excusing herself a few moments later while he just stands there. “Before you say anything just hear me out, alright?” Louis starts as soon as his mom leaves.

But Zayn just shakes his head, starting back down the stairs he’d only just walked up. Louis follows, putting on his own shoes as Zayn steps out onto the porch. He takes out a package of cigarettes, lighting one in the cold air. 

“Don’t really want to hear what you have to say,” Zayn tells him finally, and Louis doesn’t move. Has always been stubborn.

“I know things got — really fucked up,” Louis says, and Zayn doesn’t argue with him. “And I know that, okay? I fucking — I _know_ that, Zayn. I’m just here to apologize, alright?”

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” Zayn snaps angrily.

But Louis doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch where he’s standing. “Because you won’t tell me,” Louis says firmly. “You won’t tell me any fucking thing about that night.”

Zayn goes rigid; feels his entire body go tight. His throat feels like it’s already closing up, like everything inside of him wants to get away from here. 

“Nothing to tell,” Zayn says, looking away.

Louis sighs, loudly. “I just — I still want us to be friends.”

“Fine,” Zayn says, flicking the end of his cigarette. “We can be friends.”

“Doesn’t sound very promising, if I’m honest,” Louis says.

He isn’t sure what to say. “What do you want me to say? Thanks for leaving me to be fucked over by my friends, by everyone? Want a smoke? We can talk about all those assholes I hate now?”

Louis chews his lower lip, hands in his pockets and looking a little helpless. “It wasn’t my idea, to treat you like shit.”

And the thing is, Zayn knows that. Knows without a fucking doubt, because Louis isn’t like the rest of them. Wouldn’t go around dropping Zayn the second a bad thing was said about him. 

“I know,” Zayn settles on telling him.

“So, come on then. Don’t be a dick,” Louis says, taking a step toward him. 

And if Zayn told him to fuck off now, Louis would. That would be the end of it — the end of their friendship, if that were the blunt way of describing things. “I don’t want to talk about that night,” Zayn says, exhales a mouthful of smoke. “Not yet.”

Louis nods, almost like he understands. “Alright, then we won’t talk about it,” he says. “We /could/ talk about who you were with at seven in the fucking morning on a Sunday, though. That seems like a safe topic of conversation.”

_Zayn, hey. Come on Zayn._

He shakes it off, focuses back on Louis. “Just — went out with some people,” he says, cigarette now finished as he licks his lips.

“Niall Horan? That’s who you’re hanging out with?” Louis asks, leaning against one of the pillars.

Zayn gives him a look. “He’s good,” he says. Louis blinks slowly. “If you, you know. Give him a chance.”

“Alright, well. Maybe I’ll give him a chance then,” Louis says, smiling a little.

“Should go, though. Have to get ready for a shoot,” Zayn says, watching Louis’ eyebrows raise in response.

“Thought you were going to tell your mom you didn’t want to do that anymore,” Louis says, because Louis was the only one Zayn had trusted enough to tell that to.

“Things change,” Zayn says simply, lifting one shoulder. 

“If I leave now, you’ll text me? Not ignore me anymore?” Louis asks. He’s not going to leave until he gets an answer, Zayn knows him well enough to know that.

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “I’ll text you.”

Louis nods, seemingly convinced. He leaves not long after that, giving Zayn one last look before walking off to his car parked at the end of the driveway. And with his head feeling heavy he steps back inside, trying to brush off his mom’s questions as best he can while he goes upstairs to shower — picking out clothes to wear to the shoot as he comes back out.

There’s a bit of time to do a bit of homework before he’s got to go, getting the keys and a quick lunch from his mom before he’s out the door. 

The roads are quiet; no one really on them as Zayn doesn’t even bother turning on the radio. Puts his phone into the cup holder as he drives. It’s supposed to be a little over two hours, the shoot, so he’s got a bit more time to himself at home before he’s got to sleep for school.

He finds the building easily enough, parking the car and taking his wallet and keys before he gets inside. There’s the usual hair and makeup, Lou, who smiles brightly at Zayn as he walks in. She ushers him into a chair, asking him all sorts of questions about his life as he’s handed a paper with the details on the shoot — his clothes hung up beside him on a metal rack.

Lou’s easy to talk to, telling him about her daughter, Lux, and all the sorts of trouble she’s gotten up too. Zayn listens, smiling a little as she fusses and pouts over his hair as he watches her silently from the mirror.

Caroline’s next, pulling Zayn into a hug and taking the clothes out of the plastic holders they’re in. It’s the usual sweaters, jeans, and button up shirts. Nothing too out of the ordinary, he thinks as Caroline makes a point of showing him pictures of her little daughter, who’s apparently just started walking.

Zayn knows what he’s doing, when he’s at a shoot. Knows how to smile, how to stand — where to go, what to say, when to say it. There’s something to doing it for most of his life that makes it easy now, like he could do it in his sleep.

He doesn’t have to talk, doesn’t have to do much of anything except follow the photographer’s instructions. And Zayn sort of likes it that way, prefers it. 

Because he has this bad habit of not talking. Or, that’s what Perrie used to tell him when Zayn couldn’t get words out, didn’t know how to, really. And maybe that’s something he’s always had, it’s just gotten worse now. But it’s easier this way. Doesn’t make for a show, doesn’t makes him feel exposed or unsure. He’s just better at this not talking thing. 

By the end of it all he’s exhausted, which is to be expected. Everyone tells him what a great job he did, and he goes home with that always there weight on his chest. As he’s walking out to the car he checks his phone, seeing a text.

_How was the shoot , Model ?_

Zayn smiles despite himself, especially at the ridiculous trail of winking emojis at the end of Niall’s text. _it was good. milan next week. maybe paris fashion week this year._

He can practically hear Niall’s laugh when he reads Zayn’s text. _Must be nice !_

_eh, u know. pays the bills._

He starts the car, hearing his phone buzz again as he pulls out onto the road once more, toward home. His dad’s home, car in the open garage as Zayn cuts the engine, leaning his head back. He can see Doniya and Saf in the living room, on a computer — can see his mom walking past the doorway to the kitchen as he waits for a few moments.

 _Don’t 4get me when Ur famous !_ Niall had sent back while he’d been driving. When he gets inside his mom’s the first to greet Zayn, asking him how it went — telling him that’s a plate of food for him on the counter that he can warm up, saved from dinner.

Waliyha is in the kitchen, reading a book at the table as Zayn sits across from her, picking at his food. Sunday afternoons are always pretty settled in the Malik household, his dad watching television in the next room with the rest of his family dispersed. 

He texts Niall back that he can get a signed copy of his first magazine appearance, putting his plate in the dishwasher before he makes his way upstairs. It’s a grand total of five minutes before there’s a knock at his door, Zayn calling them to come in where he’s sitting on his bed, textbook open in front of him.

His mom takes a step inside, closing the door behind her. Zayn pauses where he’s writing some notes, tucking the pen behind his ear as he looks over at her. “Is everything alright?” she finally asks.

“What do you mean,” Zayn asks.

“You don’t see your friends as much as you used to,” his mom clarifies, “this is the first time I’ve seen Louis in months.”

A small sense of dread picks at Zayn, watching her. “It’s fine, we just — had a little fight. It’s over now,” he reassures her.

“Fight over what?” his mom presses, moving to sit in front of the chair by his desk.

“Nothing, it’s —” Zayn pauses, taking in a deep breath to try and steady himself. “It was nothing.”

“Well, you told me you and Perrie broke up,” his mom says, and Zayn feels something pull in his throat. Almost like his heart has somehow found its way there, uncomfortable and making it hard to breathe. “Did it have anything to do with that?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No, mom it’s — it’s not anything to worry about, alright? I promise.”

He’s lying, he knows that, but it’s better this way. Better that she doesn’t know, because that would only make everything worse.

His mom doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t push it. Instead she stands, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s forehead and telling him she’ll bring some tea up for him in a bit, the door falling shut behind her. 

He runs a hand along his face, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes, rubbing slowly. He feels tired, exhausted. Worn out. If there were any more descriptors, he would take them. 

Zayn leaves his phone on his bedside table, pulling a sweater over his head as he lets himself drift off to sleep. There’s tomorrow to deal with all this, he reminds himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zayn helps niall babysit. zayn entertains harry while liam tutors. zayn drives louis home. zayn goes on a date with niall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, all. i hope your holiday's were good -- relaxing and wonderful! so here we are, at chapter three.
> 
> before i continue i have a few warnings i'd like to lay out for this chapter and later ones real quick.
> 
> the first is: there's some anxiety and possible ptsd in this chapter, and the next two to come. mostly internal, zayn struggling with them -- but just a heads up. also i have this attached to the last two chapters but it still needs to be said, so. please note: there's mention of past attempted rape in later chapters, so proceed with caution.
> 
> also big thanks to leighanne, layla, kiwi, and blake for always doing the best for me. i love you the most always always always.

It isn’t until his phone is almost dead on Friday afternoon a couple of weeks later that Zayn realizes he’s forgotten his charger in Niall’s car. He’s got the day off school because of some teachers’ conference, and the whole house to himself by some miracle. His mom and sisters are at a shoot, his dad out golfing with some friends. It’s like Zayn can finally hear himself think in this otherwise loud home.

He texts Niall, asking if he can drop by and pick up his charger. By the time he’s warmed up food for lunch and going for a nap, his phone buzzes beside him. Zayn picks it up, smiling a little when he sees Niall’s name on his screen. _Yeh ! Come by whenever_ along with the woman in the red dress dancing emoji.

Zayn takes his time getting ready to go, His phone is now dead in his pocket as he grabs a sweater from his room, looking for the car keys inside the small cabinet near the front door. The sun’s out, welcome and warm as he locks the front door. Everyone won’t be back till later, so if he isn’t long he’ll still have the house to himself for a couple more hours.

It’s really not far to Niall’s house. He pulls up into the driveway and gets out, closing the door behind him. There’s a porch, the kind that wraps around the entire front of the house — one of those large swings hanging with a couple of pillows on it. Zayn pauses, running his finger along the pattern sewed onto one of them, before knocking on the door.

He’s greeted by a brief silence, followed by movement and muffled voices, when the door finally opens.

“Hi,” Niall greets, breathless and cheeks flushed. “Sorry, just got some — stuff going on here.”

Zayn shrugs, his shoulder brushing against Niall’s as he steps inside. “You alright?” he asks, glancing back over at Niall. “Look like you just ran a marathon.”

Niall laughs, shaking his head. “Babysitting, so, close enough,” he says, before looking at Zayn’s feet with furrowed eyebrows. “Take your shoes off, we’re about to have lunch and play monopoly. You seem like the type to completely crush everyone at that.”

Zayn pauses awkwardly, looking at the door — then back towards Niall. “I don’t want intrude —” he starts, but Niall cuts him off gently.

“Not intruding. I’m sure the girls will love you meet you. They’re big fans,” Niall says with a wink before disappearing into a doorway.

Zayn’s about to ask what the hell ‘big fans’ means, but then Niall’s gone and he’s got no choice but to follow him. For one, he’s got no clue where to find his charger. And two, whatever Niall’s making smells really good. Zayn isn’t one to turn down free food, he reasons with himself as he toes off his docs. There’s voices coming from wherever Niall disappeared to, which Zayn soon finds to be kitchen as he steps inside slowly.

Niall’s at the stove, a line of four girls leaning against the counter and talking loudly over one another — all wearing brightly coloured dresses. Hidden behind them is a smaller boy, picking a bowl of food and looking generally unimpressed.

“Everyone, this is my friend Zayn. Zayn, this everyone.”

When Zayn looks over at them, the girls are all staring at him with what looks to be rather excited expressions. Though why on earth they’re excited to see him, he’ll never know. 

“You’re — Zayn?”

A strange silence has settled over the kitchen, and Zayn can see the way Niall’s holding back a grin — pressing his face into his own shoulder to stifle any sounds he might let out. “I’m — yes?” Zayn says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Why aren’t you at a photo shoot?” “Do they really give you free clothes at shoots?” “How much makeup do they put on you?” 

“Alright, whoa there. Calm down, let’s not freak him out,” Niall cuts off the small group of girls all curiously watching Zayn. “He’s just here for lunch, not an interview.”

“Have you ever given an interview before?” Clarissa asks, eyeing Zayn as he approaches Niall slowly.

“Erm,” Zayn starts, unsure. Niall gives him a small smile, adding something to the pot he’s stirring. “Kind of? Not really though. Mostly just go, have my picture taken, then leave.”

“Are you going to be around later?” Tiffany now asks, all of them still watching Zayn’s every move.

Zayn looks at Niall. Who is once again, no help. Just shrugs and looks back at Zayn, saying, “not sure.”

“I think I’m staying,” Zayn says slowly, “if that’s — you know. Alright with you.”

“We’re doing a photo shoot later,” Lindsay says, and somewhere down the line Ethan scoffs, loudly. Niall gives him a look before scooping some food onto his plate. “And since you’re, you know. A real, actual model. We were thinking you could give us some tips.”

“I mean, yeah. If you — want,” Zayn says.

Niall smirks. “Easy to talk you into that, Malik,” he says, handing out more bowls to the rest of the kids. “But I don’t think he wants to do that, girls. He’s got a day off, we should let him take a break.”

All of them frown, looking up at Zayn with wide, hopeful eyes. He’s going to feel guilty if he doesn’t do it, he knows that full well. “I suppose I could help out for a bit. If you wanted,” he says, and the girls all but shriek in response.

“ _After_ monopoly,” Niall interjects. The shrieks devolve into a long moaning sound. “No if, ands or buts, we all agreed. It’s Ethan’s turn to pick a game, and he picked that one.”

No one argues, and soon Zayn’s handed his own bowl and fork. There’s a Superman design on the side of it. “Like your cutlery,” he teases, and Niall pretends to kick at his shin, but misses.

Niall sits next to Zayn at the table, the rest of the kids still at the breakfast bar. “You don’t have to, you know. Help out,” Niall says after a moment, voice quiet, so as not to be overheard. “They’re just, very excited to see you. I’m pretty sure Clarissa’s like, your biggest fan.”

Zayn smiles, can’t help himself. “Didn’t know I had any fans, to be honest. It’s sort of nice,” he says, and Niall groans.

“Don’t let it get to your head, superstar,” he says teasingly, as if he knows.

Zayn brushes his knee against Niall’s again, and for a second time Niall doesn’t move. Instead, he starts talking about this new movie he’d rented for the weekend — something with zombies and killing and Zayn’s only half paying attention because of the way Niall smiles when he talks. It makes his entire face light up. Also there’s the added distraction of where their hands are brushed up against one another in Niall’s lap. Zayn’s fault, he’d left his hand against Niall’s when they’d been having a discussion on the merits of romance story lines in zombie films, and now Niall’s pressing gentle circles into the back of Zayn’s hand.

It’s nice. And warm. And — nice. It makes Zayn’s face heat up and his chest flutter and it’s something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

And it’s safe, here. With Niall. Like they’re completely protected and nothing can ever touch them where they’re sitting.

“I want to be the car.”

They turn, distracted from their conversation by Ethan standing beside the table, a very firm expression on his face. Zayn falters with his fork, plate finished. Niall nods. “Alright. You’re the car,” he says. “Why don’t you go set up with the girls and Zayn and I can clean up, yeah?”

He doesn’t have to ask twice before the kids are putting their dishes on the counter, making their way into the living room; voices loud and talking over one another as Niall sighs, loudly. “You can get out now, if you want. Make an exit for the back door and I’ll tell them you had an interview with Vogue or something.”

Zayn snorts, loudly, and shakes his head. “Vogue would never have a last minute interview with me,” he says, stand to take their plates. “Besides, that zombie movie sounds pretty interesting. So I was thinking I’d, you know. Stick around for that.”

Niall noticeably perks up, putting some of the dishes into the dishwasher. “Yeah? I bought some chips. Maybe I’ll share with you,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously. 

“I consider myself honoured,” Zayn says, and Niall waves a hand at him as they put the last few dishes away. With the dishwasher humming, they make their way into the living room. Two of the girls opt out for watching a movie instead of playing, the game all set up. Zayn sits beside Niall at the small table in the middle of the room.

“You know the rules, right?” Niall asks, and Zayn nods. 

“Believe it or not, I have played this once or twice,” Zayn says flatly, but Niall just grins.

Ethan’s the banker, while the rest of them get their respective pieces. The game goes on with only a few interruptions from the girls, eager to know more about modelling. Niall shushes them, but Zayn doesn’t really mind. Though it’s a little unnerving having them staring at him basically the entire time he’s trying to focus on a game.

That is, until Ethan’s caught cheating. Taking money from the bank, as Clarissa announced, imperiously, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

She hadn’t been lying.

Zayn watches, one of his feet tucked underneath Niall’s legs Niall’s frowning, looking more sad than anything. “Ethan —” he starts, and Zayn presses his lips together. “Cheating is wrong, yeah? It’s like — it’s like lying, basically. And you know lying is wrong, don’t you?”

Ethan nods. He looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Zayn knows that feeling. A little too well, maybe.

“Lying isn’t always bad, though,” Zayn says, not even sure he’s actually said it out loud until Niall’s looking at him with a blank, unreadable expression. “Not if it’s like — protecting people you care about.”

Niall blinks, giving Zayn a look before he adds, “but, um. yes. Cheating is bad.”

“I’m going to go talk to Ethan in the kitchen quick, can you help them clean up? Maybe get the photo shoot set up downstairs?” he asks, voice quiet.

Zayn nods, watching as Niall pushes himself up off the carpeted floor — ushering Ethan carefully into the kitchen. Zayn turns back to look at the girls once more. It doesn’t take much to get them motivated to clean up the game, all packed and put away before they make their way downstairs. Before he follows, Zayn glances into the kitchen. He can see Niall and Ethan sitting on a chair, Niall stroking his hair and saying something to him in a hushed voice. Ethan’s crying, Zayn registers that much before he’s being tugged downstairs helplessly by his wrist.

Directing a photo shoot for girls aged nine is decidedly different to the ones Zayn’s familiar with. He’s not an expert in the way of applying mascara and eyeliner, and really wishes Lou was here to help him out — but as it stands, he’s alone in this sea of glitter and dresses. He puts on some blush, and a little eyeshadow — really unsure of what he’s doing.

“Must say, I’m very impressed,” Niall says, breaking Zayn’s concentration as he does Jessica’s hair. She was very firm in wanting a “tight ponytail, Zayn. Don’t let me down.”

That’s when Zayn sees the camera around Niall’s neck. It’s one of those polaroid ones; pink and with the name Clarissa written on it very clearly. “All good,” he says to Jessica, who walks out to be with the rest of the giggling girls.

“Have learned a thing or two over the years,” Zayn says, trying to sound like he knows he’s good at this. He isn’t, and that’s probably why Niall smiles widely, adjusting the collar of Zayn’s shirt as he approaches him. 

“Wait —” Niall says gently, before Zayn can go out and begin the frenzied photo shoot. Zayn does, looking at him curiously. “Don’t move, yeah?”

Zayn listens, if only because he knows Niall will complain loudly until he does what he says. Which is why he stands, the sound of the camera going off. Zayn pauses.

“No,” Zayn says firmly. “No, you have to get rid of that.”

Niall holds up a finger for Zayn to wait, waving the glossy print around for a few moments. “Don’t think so,” he says. “This is the beginning of my career in photography, you know.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s horrible. I look horrible,” he argues.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Niall says. “Now get on out there, we’ve got a photo shoot that needs shooting.”

“Oh my God,” Zayn says, following him back into the basement. “You’re so lame.”

“Might be,” Niall says in defeat, but still with a knowing smile, “but _you_ like it, so.”

Zayn nods. He can’t argue when he’s got one of his hands tangled with Niall’s behind his back — the sounds of the excited group of girls greeting them at the bottom of the stairs.

— 

It goes off without a hitch, for the most part. Despite the small setback where Tiffany wanted to wear Clarissa’s dress, but that was easily settled when Zayn came to the rescue. 

Eventually the kids go to bed. Him and Niall are in the living room with a half finished pizza, sitting on the couch and watching a movie about zombies. Zayn’s got his side pressed up against Niall’s, fingers intertwined and they’re — in Zayn’s words — officially holding hands, right here, in his living room.

It’s only because Niall had asked, about five minutes into the movie. “Can I —” Niall started, doing his best to look like he wasn’t nervous at all and on the verge of being sick at the prospect of possible rejection, “hold your hand?”

“Yes,” Zayn said, unable to bite back his grin in time while Niall reached over and took hold, carefully.

And they haven’t moved since. Right now though, the movie is over and Zayn never wants to get up. Finds himself rather content to just sit on this couch forever and hold Niall’s hand for the most part, if not all of, that forever.

The credits are rolling, when Niall asks, his head pressed against the back of the couch lazily. “You don’t really believe that do you? About lying?”

His voice is gentle, and not judgemental; but there’s a sort of weight to it. Zayn swallows thickly, considering. He looks down at their hands in Niall’s lap, focuses on the way Niall’s playing with his fingers. “I just — I don’t know. I think sparing people’s feeling is more important than the truth,” he says finally.

Niall hums, nodding slowly in response. It’s dark out, the sunset hours ago. Zayn’s car is still parked in the same spot. “We can just. Agree to disagree, then,” Niall says, and Zayn doesn’t argue with him on it.

Maybe that’s where they’re different, him and Niall. But it’s there, that thought. In the back of Zayn’s mind, lingering. Just another thing to add to the list of things that make him and Niall so different. That makes Niall such a better person than he is. He doesn’t say this out loud, just listens when Niall asks him another question about modelling. When he started doing it.

“I dunno, really. My mom took me to an audition one day and it sort of, started from there I guess? My sisters are really into it, so I sort of felt like I always had to be too,” Zayn says, not quite meeting Niall’s gaze.

A beat passes. Then, “so you don’t like doing it?”

Zayn shrugs, rubbing his thumb lazily along the inside of Niall’s wrist. “I mean, it’s alright. But I think when it comes down to it I’m just — doing it for my mom, now. It makes her happy.”

Niall blinks slowly. “You don’t think you could ever tell her you don’t want to do it anymore?”

“Not now, I don’t think,” Zayn says, and Niall doesn’t ask him anything more about it.

He does however, ask about Ethan and Clarissa. Niall smiles a little at the question, as if he’d expecting this. “They’re my niece and nephews,” he explains, “they came to live with us, last year. Do you remember that car accident? On the bridge in the city? It shut down the highways for like, four hours or something ridiculous.”

Zayn nods. “Yeah. My dad was trying to get home from work,” he says. “Took him hours to get home.”

Niall smiles, watery. And that’s when Zayn knows what he’s going to say even before he says it, “My brother and sister in law were driving, and they were hit. Paramedics said they died on impact. Hit by a drunk driver, on Christmas Eve. On their way home from my brother’s work party.”

He grips Niall’s hand, carefully. Niall does the same — hand warm as he takes in a shaky breath, steadying himself. “Kind of fucked me up for a while, if I’m honest. It was like — I always thought they were going to come home, but never did. And the kids, like. I can’t even imagine what it would be like, if I lost my mom and dad, and I’m not even close to their ages anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says sincerely, his mouth feeling dry.

Niall’s still holding onto his hand, running his free one through his hair. “Thanks,” he says softly. The television screen is dark. “I got arrested the night of their funeral.”

Zayn waits, and Niall continues: “I just wanted to be anywhere but there, you know? Not at a funeral. Not where everyone could see me and give me that pitying look like ‘your brother just died’ face, which. Is a really fucking annoying face.” His voice doesn’t break, but Niall does scrunch up his face before he says anything again, as if it’s a precaution to make sure his voice doesn’t break as he keeps talking. “It was stupid. _We_ were stupid, really. It was that old, abandoned house, near the highway. And we just took some beers and thought we’d go to just, not be anywhere near it all. We got busted, of course — and it was a complete shit storm when my parents found out, but. In some ways it helped, I guess. I got to go spend some time with my grandparents in Maine.”

“How long were you there?” Zayn asks, feeling Niall’s thumb press into his palm lightly.

“About a year, give or take,” Niall says, before he smiles a little. “Bet that’s not what the rumours were though, right?”

“They weren’t that bad,” Zayn lies, and Niall gives him a look.

“I’m not stupid, Malik,” he says. Zayn presses his face into Niall’s shoulder, feeling his warmth. “I know they say I’m sort of crazed teenager on the loose, or whatever.”

“You’re not,” Zayn says.

Niall runs a hand through Zayn’s hair, playing with some of the longer pieces near the nape of his neck. “I know I’m not. Which is all that matters, I guess, when it boils down to it,” Niall says. “Though I’m _sure_ Ethan will say I’m a complete asshole, even at the best of times.”

Zayn smiles, shaking his head. “He’s young. It’s a phase.”

“Yeah,” Niall says gently. “Taking it pretty hard though. Harder than his sister, I think.”

“You’re doing a good job though. All of you are,” Zayn encourages, and Niall just grips his hand in response — eyes glassy as Zayn presses a kiss to his shoulder.

They stay there for a while, the two of them on the couch. Neither of them really say anything, but Zayn finds himself enjoying the silence shared between them. Somewhere around midnight, when Zayn is yawning perhaps a bit more than necessary, Niall practically forces him up off the couch.

“Trust me, if Clarissa sees you here in the morning, she’ll never let you leave,” Niall says sleepily from the doorway, eyes puffy and arms crossed over his chest.

He’s shivering. Zayn shrugs off his sweater. “What are you doing,” Niall asks flatly, though it’s fairly obvious what Zayn is doing.

“Put it on,” Zayn instructs. Niall shakes his head stubbornly. It’s about half a minute before Niall breaks, accepting it begrudgingly as he puts his arms through the sleeves. “Looks better on you anyway,” Zayn adds, and Niall flips him off.

It looks like Niall wants to kiss him — standing under the dim porch light, only a few cars driving by every once in a while. But he doesn’t move, just waits for Zayn. 

“Text me Sunday, after your show. If you want,” Zayn says, and Niall nods.

“I’ll pick you up for breakfast after,” Niall offers. “Unless you — you know what, never mind.”

Zayn pauses, looking over at Niall. “What is it,” he asks, keys in his hand.

“I was just, I don’t know. Thinking,” Niall says, tugging on the bottom of Zayn’s sweater awkwardly. 

“Thinking… what?” Zayn asks, smiling a little.

“Would you maybe want to see a movie tomorrow? I’m not doing anything, except watching the kids until my mom and dad get home in the afternoon,” Niall asks.

Something inside Zayn flutters. “Yeah,” he says, and Niall looks relieved at his answer. “I want to go with you.”

Zayn watches the corners of Niall’s lips, as he mutters a gentle, “alright.”

“Alright,” Zayn agrees, his fingers still curled around Niall’s wrist.

“Alright,” Niall echoes once more, handing Zayn his charger where it had been sitting by the front door.

They say their goodnights, Zayn getting back into the car and driving himself home. He plugs in his phone beside his bed, the screen lighting up with a text from Niall he briefly registers reading before falling into bed.

_Holding this sweater hostage , sorry ! :) Sweet Dreams of zombie and glitter , malik_

_what ru going to dream of?_ Zayn sends back, curious.

_What I always dreamof, silly . You_

—

_What are you dooooooooing?_

Zayn wakes up to a text from Harry, blinking at his phone before putting his head back against his pillow. Sort of like yesterday, he’s got no plans for the day. Except maybe possibly seeing a movie with Niall later, but that was never really set in stone.

_sleeeeeeping. do u ever do that styles? sleep?_

He checks the time when he hears voices downstairs. Nine thirty, according to his phone. Zayn slowly pulls himself out of bed — taking some clothes and making his way into the bathroom to shower. 

The water is warm, and soon the bathroom is filled with steam as he hums to himself. Harry will no doubt have replied to Zayn by the time he gets back, but he takes his time anyway. Waits until the water starts going cold before he turns off the taps, steps out with a towel around his shoulders to dry himself off. 

It isn’t long until Safaa is banging loudly on the door while Zayn’s in the middle of serenading their bathroom mirror, “shut up, you can’t even sing!” she says, along with something about needing to use the bathroom.

She frowns at him when he finally leaves, but Zayn ignores it — opting out to going into his bedroom and checking his phone again.

_Occasionally, if I have the time. But that’s besides the point. You should come to the school :)_

Zayn pauses, brows furrowing. _its saturday_ he sends back.

Predictably, his phone rings when he’s pulling out his sketchbook. “Hello?” Zayn answers, cradling his phone to his shoulder.

“Come to the school,” Harry says.

“Didn’t hear a please anywhere in there…” Zayn trails off, hearing Harry sigh dramatically from other line.

“Liam’s tutoring and we’re supposed to be hanging out after. But he’s still got an hour and a half left and I’m seriously considering burning down this library out of boredom,” Harry whines.

“Where’s Niall? Isn’t he around to keep you company? Plan out your radio show?” Zayn asks.

“He’s with his niece and nephew till this afternoon when his parents come back from their trip. You’re my only hope, Zayn.”

Saying no to Harry Styles, Zayn has come to find, is a near impossible thing. Which is why he finds himself agreeing, and making Harry promise not to burn down any buildings until he gets there. He takes his keys, wallet, and phone before he’s out the door.

Truthfully, Zayn didn’t have any idea the school was even open on weekends, though apparently that’s how it’s always been — according to Harry. He gets a text from Niall when he’s through the doors, unlocking his phone as his footsteps echo down the empty hallway towards the library.

_Have fun at the library !_ is the first one, followed by, _R we still seeing a movie 2night ?_

Zayn sends back that yes, he was hoping they are still seeing a movie, and what time Niall wants go. Upon opening the library doors it becomes very apparent very quickly that Liam isn’t the only person there, a number of other groups of students at different tables as Zayn looks around to try and find Harry.

He sees Liam first, Louis across from him, and he’s about to turn around before any of them see him when he hears another voice, calling out.

“Zayn, over here!”

Harry’s leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out onto a second one where he looks to be scrolling aimlessly through his phone. Zayn pauses, because he can’t very well leave now without looking like an asshole, and when he glances back Louis is giving him a confused look. “What are you doing here?” he asks, and Zayn bites his lip.

“I um — here, to see Harry. Who’s bored out of his wits apparently,” Zayn says, taking a few steps toward them. “Hi, Liam,” he adds.

“Wait, you’re friends with Louis?” Harry asks, only now connecting the dots.

“Yeah?” Zayn replies awkwardly, all three of them staring at him now. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Niall was _supposed_ to be here, but he bailed,” Harry says.

“For good reason,” Liam adds. Harry doesn’t argue on that point.

“So you’re just here to watch Liam tutor me then?” Louis asks, very clearly amused. 

Zayn sighs, moving to sit in a chair beside Harry. Leaving seems futile, since he drove all the way fucking out here in the first place. “I guess. Threatened to burn down the building if I didn’t come. So I saved you all, technically,” Zayn says.

Liam snorts. “Harry would give up after his first attempt,” he says knowingly, pointing to a paragraph in Louis’ textbook.

“Glad you came,” Harry whispers to Zayn. “I’m playing that weird game with the tiles adding up to some big number. Was about to throw my phone across the room until you finally showed up.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, flicking Harry’s arm gently before he sees another text from Niall. Says they can go to a showing at seven thirty, if that isn’t too late for Zayn. Zayn sends back that it isn’t, and when he says he’s buying the popcorn Niall sends the monkey covering his face emoji.

“What are you and Horan texting about, then,” Harry asks, reaching for Zayn’s phone. He moves it out of reach of Harry’s freakishly large hands, giving him a look.

“None of your business,” Zayn says simply. Harry makes a face, clearly offended.

It’s a bit weird, sitting at a table with Liam, Louis, and Harry. Like Zayn’s somehow responsible for all of them getting along, though it looks like Liam and Louis are doing fine on that front. Liam says something to him, Louis cracks a joke, and manages to get Liam to laugh before moving onto the next point of whatever it is they’re studying.

“How do you know Louis, then?” Harry asks, arms crossed over his chest. “You came here to entertain me, so it’s this or trying to see how many chairs we can stack on a table without the librarian noticing.”

“We’re um, you know. Friends,” Zayn responds. Harry rubs a hand along his face, knocking his foot against Zayn’s in a silent protest. “We hung out a lot over the past few years, I guess. Had a lot of the same friends. Mostly he was just always around — and one of the few people I could stand talking to for more than five minutes.”

Harry nods slowly, as if reading into Zayn’s words something deeper than he actually means. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen you talking to him,” Harry says finally.

“We don’t have the same lunch period,” Zayn’s quick to reply.

Harry narrows his eyes, but knows better than to push the subject. Instead, he takes out his phone again — subjecting Zayn to helping him with whatever level of his game he’s stuck on. They sit there for a while, people filtering in and out of the library for a little while longer until there’s the sound of someone coughing beside them.

Both of them glance up to see Louis and Liam getting their things together, a sure sign that the tutoring session is done for the day. 

They all walk out together, Harry and Liam walking alongside one another as Louis stays back a few steps with Zayn, neither of them really saying anything as they reach the doors. Louis takes out his phone, and Zayn pauses.

“Need a ride?” he asks, motioning to his car. 

Louis looks at him for a moment, as if debating, “Yeah, I mean. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“See you Sunday?” Harry calls from where he’s getting into Liam’s car, waving to Zayn. 

“See you then,” Zayn says back, getting into the driver’s side as Louis throws his bag into the back. 

“What’s Sunday?” Louis asks, looking over at Zayn from beside him. 

He starts the car, hands on the wheel and starts off driving to where he remembers Louis’ house is. “It’s just — they have a radio show, and then we go out for food after,” Zayn tells him, both hands on the wheel.

“What radio show?” Louis asks, apparently very curious.

“It’s called Anger Management, I think?” Zayn says. The stereo’s on, playing whatever station Zayn had been listening to on the way over. “It’s not really well-known.”

He can see Louis nodding from the corner of his eye. “Who does it?”

“Harry, and Niall. Liam helps a bit,” Zayn says.

It almost feels like old times now, the two of them in this car. Like when Zayn would pick up Louis when neither of them could sleep and they’d go get shitty burgers at four in the morning. Or when they’d leave whatever party they were at to drive around for what felt like hours, the radio loud and singing off key for no one to hear but them.

“You want to hangout later tonight? My mom’s gone and I’m with the girls, but you can still come over if you want,” Louis offers, almost as if reading Zayn’s mind in wondering if things could go back to how they were.

Zayn smiles sheepishly in response. “I can’t tonight. I’ve got a — thing,” he says, and Louis raises an eyebrow. “Sunday afternoon though I’m free, if you want to do something then.”

“What thing?” Louis presses, sounding rather intrigued. 

“I’m just — seeing a movie,” Zayn says sharply, but he’s still smiling. God, he’s so defenceless around Louis.

“You’re seeing it alone? Or do you have company with you?” 

“I’m seeing it with someone,” Zayn says, because he can’t fucking lie to Louis either, apparently.

“Ah, I see,” Louis says knowingly. Zayn shoots him a look, before turning down onto his street. 

“What does _that_ mean,” Zayn asks right away. 

Louis hums, clearly amused. “Nothing, it’s just. You’re blushing, so clearly this person isn’t just a friend.”

“Shut up,” Zayn snaps.

“Please tell me it’s Niall. Bleach haired, skinny legs Niall Horan, taking Zayn Malik out to a romantic movie night,” Louis continues, sounding delighted with himself while doing so.

“Don’t think I won’t push you out of this moving vehicle,” Zayn says firmly, pointing a finger.

“So it _is_ Niall. Interesting,” Louis says. “I did not peg you for the ‘date some radio host’ type, honestly. But maybe I can see it, now that I’m thinking about it.”

“That’s one thing I didn’t miss, you know. Your inherent need to hear your own voice,” Zayn says.

Louis laughs, loudly. “Oh, fuck you very much then,” he says, grinning. “What are you seeing, anyway?”

“I don’t fucking _know_ ,” Zayn says exasperatedly, pulling into Louis’ driveway. “He asked me to go, so we’re going. As friends.”

Louis blinks. “Did you two decide you were going —” He raises his hands to quote the next few words, “‘As friends’?”

“I mean, no,” Zayn says. He leans his forehead against the steering wheel in a silent plea of defeat. “But I’m just assuming it’s, you know. As friends.”

“Stop saying ‘as friends’, it’s starting to give me a headache,” Louis says, pinching Zayn’s elbow. “I mean, has he held your hand yet?”

Zayn’s silent. Louis makes a whooping sound, clapping. “My, my. You’ve grown up and found yourself someone, haven’t you?”

“You’re so fucking embarrassing, _Christ_ ,” Zayn sighs.

Louis, however, pays no attention to this. “If he’s held your hand, you’re clearly not going as friends.”

Zayn snorts. “How do you know,” he asks flatly.

“Because for one, he held your hand. And for two, _I’m_ not the one being obtuse about this.”

He turns his head, giving Louis a glare. “I wouldn’t use the word obtuse. Just — cautious.”

“Did he offer to buy your ticket,” Louis asks, like Zayn’s answer will somehow prove his point.

“No, but I didn’t ask. I offered to buy him popcorn though,” he says.

“And?” Louis asks, motioning with his hands for Zayn to continue.

“And, I don’t know — fuck. He gave me one of those emoji things in response.”

Louis rolls his eyes, leaning his head back against his seat where he’s positioned himself to look at Zayn. “Which emoji,” he asks. “Give me your phone, honestly. You’re hopeless.”

Zayn does, if only because he’s in a losing battle. He unlocks it, going to his and Niall’s conversation as Louis scrolls through.

“Idiot,” Louis mumbles affectionately. “He used that monkey covering its face emoji. Means he really likes you, clearly.”

Zayn groans. “What is this, a how-to session on asking people out?”

“Yes, because apparently you need it,” Louis says, handing his phone over again. 

“Out of the car. Now.” Zayn instructs, motioning to the door Louis clearly isn’t using.

“I expect a full report back on Sunday,” Louis says. “And — thanks. For the ride home.”

Zayn finds himself returning the smile Louis gives him, and it feels right. Almost normal, he thinks to himself. 

And once Louis is inside, he backs out — pulling out onto the road and feeling a little relieved as he goes. 

— 

Niall picks Zayn up a little before seven.

“We can either see Horrible Bosses two, or that new Captain America movie,” is the first thing Niall tells Zayn as he gets into the front seat. 

Zayn blinks, noticing his mom looking out of the living room before turning his attention back to Niall. “Not really picky,” he says with a shrug.

Niall mumbles something about Zayn being unhelpful, teasingly, before putting the car in reverse. The movie theatre is pretty full, probably because it’s a Saturday night, when they make their way inside. Niall’s talking excitedly about their show for tomorrow, brushing up against Zayn’s side every few moments as they wait in line to get their tickets.

“Two for Captain America, please,” Niall says, approaching the cashier. Zayn gives him a look, but Niall brushes it off. He pays, thanks the man before handing one of the pieces of paper over to Zayn.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Zayn says. Niall just rolls his eyes. 

“I think you owe me some popcorn though,” Niall says, wiggling his eyebrows. Zayn laughs, pressing his lips to the top of Niall’s head as he stands in line to get just that.

“Extra butter?” Zayn asks. A part of him wants to reach out and take Niall’s hand — but another larger part of him holds back. 

Niall scoffs, making a face. “Who do you think I am,” he says, and Zayn bites back a laugh. “Of course, come on now, Malik.”

The line’s pretty long, so Niall excuses himself to go to the bathroom as Zayn gets rung through. He’s handed the bag of popcorn, nearly overflowing as he tries to make sure not too much of it falls out before Niall’s return. It’s loud, people talking every direction until someone comes to stand beside him. Zayn’s about to ask Niall where he wants to sit, when he hears a voice he doesn’t recognize. 

“You’re the guy from that commercial, right?”

Zayn immediately feels himself go tight, rigid. Closed off. He forces himself to smile, nodding. “Yeah — that’s me,” he responds slowly.

The other guy is still staring at him, and that’s when Zayn knows what he’s going to say. “I’m Daniel,” he says. Zayn’s thankful for the bag of popcorn, so he has at least a good excuse for not shaking his hand. “You seeing a movie?”

“I’m um — yes,” Zayn says awkwardly. “Are you?”

The guy, Daniel, smiles. “Well, yes. Are you going to tell me your name?”

Zayn licks his lips, now feeling more uncomfortable than anything. “Zayn,” he says finally.

“What movie are you seeing, Zayn?” Daniel asks, taking a step toward him. 

“That — Captain America, one,” Zayn stammers. Where the fuck is Niall?

“Me too,” Daniel says, like this is supposed to make Zayn invite him to sit with him, or something. “I was just wondering, though. It’s a bit, forward, I guess. But — could I get your number?”

Zayn takes in a sharp breath, grip tightening around his bag. He’s about to open his mouth to excuse himself, when he hears a finally familiar voice behind him.

“The line for the bathroom was so fucking long, honestly what the fuck —” Niall pauses himself mid rant, seeing Daniel. “Who are you, then?”

“Daniel,” he says, looking between Zayn and Niall. “I was just asking your friend if he was in that commercial.”

“Well, yes. That’s our Zayn isn’t it?” Niall teases, smiling widely. Clearly not catching on to how uncomfortable Zayn is, standing there. “I’m Niall, by the way.”

“Right, well. Enjoy your movie then. Cool to meet you, Zayn,” Daniel says, giving a final wave before he’s off.

Zayn stands there for a moment, stunned. Niall, apparently oblivious, starts walking toward their theatre and talking about how he isn’t sure what’s going to happen in this movie, since Ethan couldn’t make it through the first one so he had to leave halfway. But Zayn only half listens, following him into the slightly crowded theatre. 

What if he read everything with Niall wrong? What if he was the one here, thinking they were very clearly more than friends — when Niall thinks something completely different? 

But it’s not like Zayn’s seen him and Harry hold hands on multiple occasions, or anything. In fact, he hasn’t seen Niall touch anyone besides him, now that he’s thinking about it. And it’s not like Niall would be the type to go around fucking with people’s emotions, especially when Zayn’s sure he’s made it so obvious that he likes Zayn. And Zayn likes to /think/ he made himself obvious on the subject as well. He doesn’t go around watching zombie movies with anyone, while holding their hand.

Maybe they’re just friends. Maybe Zayn’s got this all wrong, he thinks with a slight bit of panic. The thought makes something turn in his stomach, uncomfortable and like he’s going to be sick, as he sits in his seat. He doesn’t want to be wrong about Niall, is the thing. He wants Niall to like him, wants to maybe — see where things go. 

So maybe Zayn was wrong. Maybe he doesn’t know what kind of person is good for him anymore. Not after — well, not after everything that happened, he supposes. 

The theatre dims and he can feel Niall’s leg going up and down beside him, like some sort of frenzied animal — and Zayn tries to clear his head.

He closes his eyes, swallows the lump in his throat. Focuses on how warm Niall is beside him, leaning back in his seat and taking a few bites of popcorn. 

At home, now — he sleeps with a light on. His little desk lamp, isn’t too bright. Can’t handle being in a dark space, something like this. The screen turns on a few moments later, and something in Zayn relaxes a bit, but not quite there. It’s too familiar, a setting he knows too well. Causes his throat to feel tight and his chest like it’s doing the same thing — too tight to breathe. 

_Come on, Zayn._

He grips the armrest, doing what he used to tell himself to do when it got too much — to just breathe. So Zayn closes his eyes, swallows, and forces himself to think about something else. How Niall smells like cologne and toothpaste. How the theatre floor beneath his feet is a little sticky. How Zayn isn’t there anymore, he’s here. 

Suddenly, Niall’s voice cuts through his thoughts, “You alright?” he asks, sounding concerned.

Zayn nods, eyes open and forcing another smile. Niall stares at him for a few moments longer, still not looking fully convinced, but turns back to the movie when Zayn doesn’t say anything else.

He can’t focus on the movie. He saw it last week anyway, so it’s not like he’s missing anything really important. 

And so it goes for the next two and something hours. Until the movie ends and the lights turn back on, Niall’s face bright as he looks over at Zayn.

“Holy shit,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “That was — wow.”

Zayn smiles a little, enjoying the Niall’s cheeks are rather flushed from his excitement. “Did you like it?” Zayn asks, taking the empty popcorn bag and tossing it into the garbage on their way out. 

“Honestly? Like,” Niall starts, apparently not noticing the people pushing past him. “Makes me want to make a shield and start running around saving people. Through like, burning buildings and shit.”

Zayn snorts, can’t help himself, as he watches Niall talk. “Not sure you could withhold a burning building, though,” he reminds Niall gently.

Niall pauses, making a face. “I’ll find a way. Harry can help me,” he says, like he’s just found a way around one minor detail. 

Zayn nods, not going to argue Niall on this. They walk back out to the car, the sky now dark and Zayn’s head pounding. 

They drive for a bit, Niall still talking about the radio show as Zayn listens, content to just sit and be quiet. That is, until they pull up in front of a small coffee shop. Zayn pauses, blinking, as he looks toward Niall — confused. Niall cuts the engine, the air still hot outside and the air conditioning not working in the car. He looks at Zayn, studying him.

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks, voice softer and a little more serious. 

Zayn shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he says, trying to sound convincing. “It’s fine, honestly.”

Niall, however, looks the opposite of convinced. “Not taking that. Something’s up, I can tell,” he says, and he isn’t wrong. “Come on, tell me.”

It’s not forceful, the way Niall’s asking him. More concerned, the way he’s looking over at Zayn now. Zayn chews his lip, thinking of the potential fallout until Niall says softly, “you don’t have to tell me, but just know this —” Niall cuts himself off, briefly, as he points around his car. “This? Judgement free zone. Unless you’re going to say you don’t like Bieber. Then we’re done,” and Niall cracks a smile. While Zayn appreciates Niall’s attempts to lighten the mood, he forces a small, half smile back. Apparently that doesn’t really work, because Niall leans closer toward him.

He reaches out a hand, slowly, to put on Zayn’s arm. But then, thinking better of it, he pulls it back. And that’s something Zayn likes so much about Niall, how observant he is. How he almost seemed to understand right away that Zayn is the one who likes to initiate contact, and how Niall hasn’t one questioned or pushed that unspoken boundary. Now that Zayn’s thinking about that — here, in Niall’s car, he thinks that might be a sign. One of those dumb, ridiculous signs Louis used to talk about with Eleanor.

“You know. _Signs_ , Zayn,” Louis would tell him adamantly, all serious. “She would talk to me longer than anyone else in our chemistry lab. And when I asked her out she said she’d been wanting me to ask her out for weeks, and couldn’t understand why I waited so long. Now look at us, dating almost an entire year.”

“Amazing she’s put up with you that long,” Zayn joked, feeling Louis’ hand hit the back of his head gently.

“Zayn?” Niall’s voice takes him from his thoughts again, almost a whisper this time. “What is it,” he adds, now looking more worried than anything.

In the few moments that follow Zayn finds himself blurting out, “what are we.”

Niall leans back, looking a bit bemused as he says, “well, I’m Niall.” He points to Zayn and adds, “and you’re Zayn. We’re both students, though you’re a part time model. And I’m a part time — ah, what’s the word they use these days? Juvenile delinquent?”

Zayn shakes his head, “No, I mean —” he stops himself, unsure. He hates this. Hates how he can never get his words out, can never express how he’s feeling even if he wants to. Which is mostly what drew him to modelling, at first. You don’t have to talk, you just stand there and do what the photographer tells you. It’s easy, it’s simple, and it’s easier for Zayn to stand in a room full of people in his underwear and have his picture taken then it is for him to talk and express himself. His other friends, from before — would always laugh when he told them that, but Niall’s looking at him patiently, with no rush or pressure. It’s so different than how Perrie would sometimes look at him, when Zayn was having a particularly bad day and just couldn’t get his words to form quite right. 

Zayn takes a deep breath, before he continues. “I mean like. Us,” and motions to the space (or lack thereof, really), between him and Niall presently. “What… what is this? What are we doing? Are — are we?” He doesn’t say the word dating, but it’s there; unspoken between the two of them.

Niall turns then, and faces the front of the car. Zayn’s heartbeat quickens in his chest, beat anticipating a fight. His mouth is already starting to form an apology when Niall chuckles. He scratches the back of his neck and says, “I uh… kind of thought we were together?”

He looks over at Zayn, eyes frantic and adds, “unless you don’t want that, it was stupid of me to assume that —” but Zayn buts off him with a soft, but still very distinct, “no.”

It stops Niall mid sentence, mouth hanging open slightly. “I do want. That,” Zayn continues, and Niall lets out a breath didn’t realize he’d been holding. Saying, “oh, thank God,” and his eyes flick down to Zayn’s mouth, then back up again. And Zayn can tell Niall wants to kiss him, but won’t out of respect for Zayn and Zayn’s boundaries that he hasn’t even distinctly set. So Zayn leans over and kisses him once, twice, before pulling away again. 

“That was — nice.” Niall says, and Zayn laughs in the stillness that’s settled in his car. “I was — you know. Thinking we could get some coffee or something. And then we could keep doing that, if you wanted to.”

Zayn smiles, tongue pressing against his teeth as he nods. “I like that idea,” he says, and Niall flashes another grin in his direction before they unbuckle — making their way inside.

The small cafe is basically empty, Zayn insisting he pays for their drinks. Niall agrees, if only because Zayn manages to pay before he has the chance to even take out his wallet. Zayn plays with one of Niall’s hands while they wait, warm and soft against the pads of his fingertips. They talk about the movie some more — Niall still apparently convinced he could be the next real life Captain America. 

Zayn takes his iced coffee, Niall his own too sweet drink — walking back out to his car. It had rained while they were in the movie, the pavement wet with the occasional puddle on the way. 

He’s not nervous, is the thing. Anytime he’s with Niall, nothing feels out of place. So when he gets into the front seat Niall smiles at him, turning the key as they start off down the road, there’s nothing to be nervous or concerned about. He takes the long way home — trees along the edge, lights on in houses as they pass by them. 

Once they’re a ways down the road Zayn reaches over, placing his hand over the one Niall’s not currently using to steer. Zayn smirks to himself when he sees Niall look over and smile, out of the corner of his eye.

And, as it turns out, Niall’s car isn’t exactly a spacious place for them to continue what had been previously started in a parking lot. They’re a few houses down from Zayn’s, so as not to be seen by his nosey family, which Niall doesn’t mind.

“Can I kiss you now?” Niall asks, after their drinks are finished and they’re talking about awkward first kisses.

Zayn nods slowly, excitement jumping in his chest. His heart feels caught somewhere in his throat as he watches Niall lean forward again, his eyes never leaving Zayn’s.

It’s slow, and careful. Almost like Niall’s testing the waters, making sure everything’s alright. Zayn presses back, feeling Niall’s soft lips — and one of his hands curled around Zayn’s neck lightly, like a promise. 

They go from a slow brush of the lips to Zayn sucking on Niall’s lower lip, back feeling cramped where it’s pressed against the passenger side door. Niall doesn’t seem to notice how closed in they are, letting out small moan in response to Zayn running his tongue along his lower lip. And, in answer to Zayn’s silent question, Niall opens his mouth — almost immediately. It’s all warm heat and enough to make Zayn’s stomach tug with a fierce sense of want, head spinning in response.

It’s almost like Niall knows what Zayn wants, what he needs. One of his thumbs presses into Zayn’s hip, the other still around his neck — and it’s not like Zayn needs anything else, in this moment.

“Should get inside,” Zayn mumbles against Niall’s lips. “Almost eleven thirty.”

Niall makes a small sound of protest, his lips red and puffy as he looks over at Zayn again. “I’m sure if you explain to her we were having a very educational conversation in my car, she’ll understand why you were late.”

Zayn laughs, amused, as he presses his forehead lightly against Niall’s. “Education with your lips, maybe.”

Niall squeaks, cheeks flushing as he laughs against Zayn’s neck. It’s a little awkward, Niall having to sit somewhere half on, half off Zayn’s seat in order to be able to be this close to him. “Either way, some teaching did happen,” Niall adds.

“Mostly on my part, it did,” Zayn says. Niall gasps, mock offended.

“I think I’m very educational on matters of the lips, thanks,” Niall says, mostly sarcastic.

Zayn hums, noncommittal, as he brushes his lips against Niall’s forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow after your show,” he says, and Niall nods.

“I’m sure I’ll get your full review then,” Niall says.

It’s a few moments before Zayn’s finally able to get himself out of the car, disentangling his limbs from Niall’s as he goes. They say their goodbyes, Niall looking tired from his seat as Zayn takes his phone — starting off down the street toward his house.

He’s a few steps of the way, when he hears a voice.

“Hey, Malik.”

Zayn stops, turning around to see Niall out of his car, walking toward him. It’s cheesy, and oh, so, predictable — but Zayn doesn’t really give a fuck, not when Niall’s kissing Zayn again — right there, in the middle of his street.

“Goodnight,” Niall whispers, pressing one last kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth before he steps back slowly, towards his car.

It’s dark, so Niall can’t see Zayn’s blush as he returns the goodbye, gripping Niall’s hand once before starting back up to his house. All the lights are on, most of his family awake as he steps in the front door. 

“How was the movie?” his mom asks from the living room, watching television with Doniya and his dad.

Zayn looks over at her, leaning against the doorway. He can’t stop smiling, and doesn’t make a point of trying to stop. “Good, yeah. It was really good.”

“You look happy,” his mom comments after a moment, her face soft as she looks at him.

Zayn nods, “I am. Happy, I mean. Really happy.”

It’s the first time he hasn’t lied to her in months.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zayn goes to the carwash with niall; among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this update has taken FAR TOO LONG FOR ME TO DO. and for that i'm hugely sorry! i've been working a lot more and when i get home i either pass out or eat and THEN pass out so i haven't had a lot of time to really sit and write. either way, i hope you enjoy! i want to finish this soon so hopefully in the next couple of weeks i'll post the last two chapters. thank you for reading, you are the best.
> 
> i had this with my first chapter, but putting it with all of them i think. trigger warning: there's mention of past attempted rape in this chapter. along with some slight PTSD and anxiety. just so you know.

“Hello?”

Zayn’s almost out the door, Louis pulling up into his driveway when his phone rings. He pauses in the doorway, hand on the knob when the voice on the other line finally replies. “Yes, hi. My name is George Langley and I’m looking for a Zayn Malik?”

Zayn pauses, not recognizing the name. “This is he,” he says. Louis honks from the car.

“Oh, good. Glad I could catch you,” George continues. Zayn feels something inside him tighten, almost immediately apprehensive. “I was wondering if I could talk with you sometime, about a fellow classmate of yours?”

He’s going to be sick. “I don’t.” Zayn stops himself, trying to find words. “Any particular classmate?”

“A one, Mr. James Layfield?” 

Zayn closes his eyes. Louis honks again. He tries not to fall over onto the pavement, or something. “I’m um. I don’t know him,” he finally stammers out after a few moments, mouth dry.

George Langley makes a quiet sound. Almost as if he’d been expecting this. “I just have a few questions, if you’d like to give me some of your time. One of your other classmates has come forward with a story, and gave me your name as someone with a possible story like theirs —”

“No.” Zayn cuts him off, throat feeling like it’s closing up. “No, I. Can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be afraid, Mr. Malik,” George says after a few moments of silence. Louis is looking at Zayn from the car, confused.

“Thank you for the call. I’ll — I have to go,” Zayn says, abruptly ending the call by hitting the red button. And, feeling like he’s going to possibly pass out in Louis’ front seats, gets inside.

“Who was that,” Louis asks right away.

“No one,” Zayn says. He checks his phone: a text from Niall.

_Hurrrrrrrry up or Harrys going 2 eat Ur food !_

“You have to direct me to this place,” Louis says. Zayn tries to get himself out of his thoughts.

Another student come forward? George Langley’s words ring through Zayn’s mind, over and over and over again as they drive down the road. In his now typical Sunday morning fashion Zayn had gotten up at five to six — turned on his radio, and heard Niall and Liam’s familiar voices over the speakers. Sometime after that Louis had texted, asking what Zayn was up too. 

Which had somehow ended up with Louis being invited to breakfast, through Zayn, from Niall who had originally asked him in the first place. All a very confusing sort of timeline, but now he’s in Louis’ car, so no harm’s done.

“Eleanor wants to see you later, if you want. I have to drop something off at her house before we go to yours anyway,” Louis says, clicking his tongue as he changes lanes. Zayn still can’t believe he willingly just got into a car Louis was driving. He grips the armrest on the door tightly. 

“Yeah, sure,” Zayn says. He hasn’t seen her in what feels like months, almost.

Zayn can see Louis’ expression turn to concerned again, brows furrowing where he’s focused on the road. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be,” Zayn asks flatly in response, pinching his lips together.

Louis pauses. Like he’s hesitating, for some reason. “Dunno. You just seem —” he pauses, as if trying to find the right word. “Rattled.”

“Been studying your SAT’s too much I think,” Zayn jokes. Louis flips him off.

“Always a fucking asshole,” Louis mutters, pulling into the diner driveway. “Are you sure it’s like, sanitary to eat here?” he asks, peering through the windshield.

“Oh my God,” Zayn says, opening his door. “Fuck _off_ , and come inside.”

“Don’t use that word before eight in the morning on a Sunday, Malik. Honestly,” Louis says, shaking his head. When Zayn looks at him again he’s smiling, and it settles something in Zayn comfortably. “If you and Niall are anything close to disgusting, I’m leaving.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder into Louis’. “We aren’t disgusting,” he says, sheepish.

“Not what Liam claims,” Louis says smugly.

“Excuse me,” Zayn says, trying to sound offended. “You two are _tutoring_. Not gossiping.”

“Apparently you can’t keep your hands off each other,” Louis comments, opening the door.

“Apparently Liam can’t keep his mouth shut,” Zayn mutters.

Louis laughs, Zayn spotting the familiar group in their booth. He walks up with Louis, Niall’s face brightening as soon as he sees Zayn. Louis slides in next to him, Liam and Harry across from them. 

“So.” Harry starts, looking at Louis. “Here we are.”

“Oh, shut it,” Liam chastises, handing Louis a menu. “We got you a coffee. Zayn said you liked it.”

“Zayn would be correct,” Louis says, nodding.

Zayn shifts, feeling Niall’s leg pressed up against his own. He doesn’t move, just enjoys the warmth and tries to talk himself down from the phone call in his driveway.

Harry starts in about the show, Louis half listening and making a few teasing comments here and there. Such as, “So you’re a big Florence fan? Would’ve taken you for a more Lana Del Ray. Possibly some, you know. Mumford and Sons mixed in there.”

Liam, bless him, hides his laugh in Harry’s shoulder. Harry doesn’t seem to notice, just flips him off subtly when he goes to pick up his coffee. “Who invited this guy anyway,” he says.

“I did,” Liam says. “I think he’s a good added company.”

“Added company,” Harry repeats, voice nasally in a mock impersonation of Liam.

Niall snorts. Somewhere between that and ordering Harry asks, “Has Niall asked you then?”

Everyone pauses, including Zayn, who was mid stirring some sugar into his coffee. “Asked me what,” he asks slowly in response.

There’s a bit of movement from under the table. And, judging by the wince Harry gives, Niall’s more than likely kicked him in the shin. Really fucking hard. Niall makes a face to say ‘I’ll deal with you later’, before looking back at Zayn once more.

“Well, um. I’ve got this — thing. In a couple of weeks. And Harry won’t be able to do the show, either. And we were wondering if you wanted to do it, with Liam. Possibly. Maybe. If you — you know. Wanted to,” Niall finally manages to get out.

“Chill out, Horan. You’re going to give yourself a fucking hernia,” Harry says. Niall gives him a look that shuts him up rather well. “It’s not like you’re asking Zayn to marry you, or something.”

Niall makes a high pitched, strangled sound — and when Zayn gets a good look at him he’s blushing something serious, cheeks bright red. “Any _way_ ,” Niall continues. “Louis can even help you if he wants, it’s not all that formal.”

Zayn stirs his coffee for a few more moments, considering. “I mean, if he says no, I’ll do it,” Louis says.

“No, I can do it,” Zayn says, and Niall looks something close to ecstatic when he does. 

“It _can’t_ be an hour of Backstreet Boys,” Harry says, pointing an accusatory finger at Zayn. “We have a reputation to uphold here.”

Louis smirks, and Liam — where he’s already got an arm comfortably around Harry’s shoulders — flicks his ear in response. “Alright, well. Cool,” Niall says, smiling over at Zayn. Louis mocks another artist Harry likes, which starts a loud argument over one another in this otherwise quiet, peaceful diner, as Zayn brushes his hand against Niall's. 

Niall turns his palm up, warm and familiar where Zayn presses their hands together in response. “You alright?” Niall asks, none of the other boys noticing.

Zayn swallows, nodding. Doesn’t let the emotions from earlier break him now here, beside him. “Yeah, I’m just. Tired,” he says simply, shrugging.

Niall blinks, slow and tired in the still early morning light. “You sure?” he presses, gently, always so gently with him. “Just seem — dunno. Upset.”

“Fine,” Zayn says with a reassuring squeeze to Niall’s hand. “Promise.”

It’s empty, and not true, but Niall doesn’t need to know that. He seems content enough in Zayn’s answer to turn to Harry, saying something to defend Louis’ current argument for a band Zayn does not have the attention span to remember.

He feels the guilt settle in his chest, weighing there for a few moments. Zayn takes in a deep breath — focuses on the small scar Niall has on his hand, just above his knuckles.

“Got it when I was six,” Niall told Zayn one evening they’d been in his living room, after putting Ethan and Clarissa to bed. “Me and Greg were being stupid, racing our bikes down the street. Mom kept yelling at me to not go so fast, but I didn’t listen. Fell, hit my hand — cut it open on the sidewalk. Sat in the hospital _nine hours_ for six stitches. Unreal.”

“Learned your lesson, then?” Zayn asked, voice slow and tired. Everything a dull sort of sound in his head. All he could really focus on was where his head was against Niall’s chest, feeling the rise and fall with each breath he took in. 

Niall smiled into Zayn’s hair, shrugging, “Something like that, I guess.”

Zayn traces over the scar; tries to imagine a six year old Niall in the hospital waiting room. Can see him squirming in the seats, not sitting still despite his mother’s pleas for him to do so. “Kind of like a reminder of Greg, I guess,” Niall said quietly, heart beating fast in his chest and pounding in Zayn’s ears. “Always think of him when I see it.”

Louis is still talking loudly and Zayn realizes has no idea, the pain Niall’s gone through. Can’t imagine that kind of loss — real and raw and something Niall constantly carries with him. But now, looking at him, his expression is bright and lips pulled up into that grin Zayn knows so well. His eyes look bluer in this sort of setting, or maybe they’ve always been this bright, Zayn thinks to himself.

Then again, Niall’s never been anything but bright.

Beside him, Louis clears his throat. Never being one who’s mastered subtly, Zayn casts a glance toward him. “What,” he asks flatly.

“Nothing,” Louis sing songs, but Zayn’s smart enough to know it isn’t nothing. 

Zayn doesn’t question Louis any further, if only because Harry’s halfway to climbing over the table in some sort of mission of defending Taylor Swift against Louis, apparently. 

“When have I ever said I hated Taylor Swift,” Louis says, indignant. 

“You literally — _just_ said it,” Harry barks, breathless. Zayn tips his head back, amused, as he takes another bite of his waffle. 

The rest of their time goes something like this, for the most part. It ends with Niall insisting that he covers Zayn’s bill, which seems a bit extra. But Zayn lets him if only because he stops when Zayn finally agrees. 

“I’ll text you later?” Niall asks, walking out the door with Harry and Liam behind him. 

Zayn looks at him a few moments, ignoring the cat calls and whooping the rest of them are giving as he nods, slowly. “Yeah, I’ll give you a call. If you’re around,” he says.

Niall grins. “I’ll be around,” he says, gripping Zayn’s hand once before walking to his car.

When he gets back into Louis’ car, there’s a scoff. “Told you,” Louis says simply, shifting the car gear. “Dis-gus- _ting_.”

Zayn ignores him. Louis, however, doesn’t take note of this — as he starts talking, driving off toward Eleanor’s house. It feels weird, going to see her. Like he’s revisiting some sort of other time in his life; on the outside looking in.

“She’s been asking about you for weeks, you know,” Louis tells him. She lives not that far from Zayn, another one of those houses along the water. 

“And? What’d you tell her?” Zayn asks, seeing Louis shrug.

“Told her you were busy. Work, school,” Louis says after a moment. 

She doesn’t go to their school, so it’s not like Zayn sees her there every week. But he used to more often, when he would see Louis on the weekends. When things were — different.

Eleanor’s mom lets them in, placing a quick kiss on Louis’ cheek. “Haven’t seen you around much,” she tells Zayn, giving him a small smile.

“Busy,” Zayn says, and she nods easily. And with a promise of giving them a snack if they stay a bit longer, Louis finds Eleanor reading outside.

She’s sitting on a big swing, similar to the one on Niall’s porch. When they step outside she doesn’t even hear them, not until Louis presses what Zayn assumes to be a sloppy kiss to her cheek. He smiles a little, hearing her nearly shriek as she pushes Louis off her. Then, she looks over at Zayn — standing and pulling him into a hug.

“Where have you been hiding?” she asks teasingly. It’s gentle, and Zayn rolls his eyes when he hears Louis scoff from behind her.

“Got himself a new boyfriend. Too busy making out with him to have time for us,” Louis says, not even trying to mask his bitterness.

Zayn rolls his eyes. Eleanor doesn’t comment on this, “The one with the radio show, right?”

Zayn gives Louis a look, who merely holds up his hands in response. “She asked who he was. I answered. That’s how typical conversations work, is it not?”

They keep talking, about school, jobs, the usual things. Zayn finds himself relaxing in his chair, telling Louis to fuck off every other sentence, Eleanor tucked into his side. Reminds Zayn why he liked spending so much time with them in the first place.

“Do you still see Jade?” Eleanor asks, picking at the hem of her shirt.

Zayn pauses, blinking. Louis stays quiet surprisingly, still beside Eleanor. “Around. At school, mostly. Why?” he asks.

“Just wondering. She was looking to talk to you the other day,” Eleanor says. “We still hang out sometimes, so. You came up I guess. Not a big deal.”

Zayn shifts, crossing his arms over his chest. He can hear the water behind him; the familiar sound of it filling his ears as he chews his bottom lip. “I’m sure I’ll see her around,” he says, and Eleanor nods. Doesn’t push the issue any further.

Eventually they leave, Eleanor telling Zayn once more how glad she was he came by, pulling him back in for another hug. And with the promise he’ll be around more, they go back outside to Louis’ car.

“I’ll see you later?” Louis asks when he drops Zayn off, practically hanging out his window. 

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll get sick of me again in no time,” Zayn says.

Louis shakes his head, waving to Zayn once more before he steps inside. He doesn’t hear many voices, just sees Doniya in the kitchen reading at the table as he steps inside. There’s coffee still in the pot as he takes a mug, pouring himself a bit before she says anything.

“So you’re hanging out with Louis again?” she asks, not looking up.

Zayn leans against the counter, feeling strangely defensive. “That alright with you?” he asks sharply in response, taking a drink of coffee.

Doniya makes a sound on the verge of not caring. “Just a question, Jesus. Chill out will you?”

He sighs, decidedly leaving his coffee on the counter before making his way back towards the stairs. Before he’s out of the kitchen entirely Doniya speaks up again, “Are you still coming to the shoot next week?”

Zayn runs his knuckles along the doorway, considering. He takes in a deep breath, replies, “I think so. Mom said it was confirmed.”

His sister makes a happy sound of agreement. “Good. We’re both signed up for it — so I can take you.”

He doesn’t say anything else, checking his phone as he goes upstairs. Dialling a familiar number, he kicks his door shut behind himself.

It rings once, twice, then — “Hello?”

“Hi,” Zayn says. He hears Niall say something, probably to Ethan or Clarissa before he responds in his always soft voice. The one Zayn likes to think Niall has reserved just for him, “Hey, you.”

Zayn smiles ridiculously, shaking his head at himself. “Sounds a little chaotic over there,” he comments.

There’s a bit more shuffling on the other line, some muffled voices. “Something like that,” Niall says, a hint of frustration in his tone. “How was hanging out with Louis?”

“Good,” Zayn says, leaning back against his desk chair. “You know, nothing really out of the ordinary.”

Niall laughs. “He seems cool though,” he says, and Zayn makes a sound of agreement. He’s about to ask what Niall’s up to, when he hears another conversation on the other line. “Yes, it’s Zayn. No, you can’t talk to him. I’ll — I’ll ask him later, okay? Yes, I promise Clarissa.”

Zayn bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Ask me what?”

A brief pause passes. Niall curses under his breath. “Just, it’s nothing big, really,” he replies, sounding sheepish.

“What is it?” Zayn asks, amused.

“Clarissa has this thing? This modelling — fashion show, thing. It’s not a big deal, or anything. And I don't want you to feel obligated to say yes,” Niall rambles. “She was wondering if you wanted to come? Help her get ready, that kind of thing. I told her you were probably busy, so there’s no pressure.”

“When is it?”

“This is like, very short notice.” Niall rambles.

“When is it, today?” Zayn asks, grinning.

“ _No_ ,” Niall says, laughing. “it’s, um. Next Saturday, actually."

Zayn can hear his sisters downstairs. “I’m free then.”

“But there’s no —”

“Pressure, I know,” Zayn finishes for him. “I can do that, yeah.” 

There’s a small pause until Niall talks again, “I should go, though. Have to take Ethan to his piano lessons in a bit.”

Zayn hums, sitting on the edge of his bed. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.

“See you then,” Niall says, and Zayn can hear the smile in his voice. He hangs up the call, putting his phone down beside him and falling back onto his mattress.

He checks for any voicemails, but there aren’t any. Zayn looks at the number that called him this morning, unfamiliar, and the conversation is still running through his head as he closes his eyes tight.

— 

Zayn doesn’t see Niall in the morning, like he usually does. Just spots Liam and Harry in passing, almost late for his first class when he gets through the door. 

It makes something uneasy settle in Zayn, but he ignores it. Gets a text from Niall somewhere through second period that he’s running late, had to take Ethan to the doctor’s with a sore throat. He’s fine now, at home, and Niall will be there for lunch.

He walks toward the cafeteria after third period, bag heavy and needing to just _sit_. As he turns a corner, he hears a voice.

“Malik. Going to see your boyfriend?”

Zayn freezes in the hallway, stomach turning. He doesn’t look to see who it is; he already knows, feet rooted to the tiled floor. “Why don’t you fuck off,” Zayn breathes out, tone angry.

He’s surrounded by his usual friends. Though this time, Zayn doesn’t see Perrie. A small sense of relief goes through him, when he registers this. “Don’t want to keep him waiting, now do you?” he continues. Zayn ignores the urge to throw up all over his expensive shoes. “I hear our delinquent Mr. Horan is very impatient when it comes to matters such as this.”

“Can I go now,” Zayn asks, grip tightening on his binder. 

He laughs, grinning. God, fuck. Zayn really, truly, hates him. “You don’t need _my_ permission,” he says, eyebrow raised as if this is some sort of game. His little crowd around him cooes, tauntingly. “It’s cute you think you need it though.”

Zayn grits his teeth. He wants to sink into the floor and never have to come up back up again. He wants a lot of things, actually, now that he’s thinking about it. “It’s not cute. Don’t ever speak to me again, you hear me?”

He grins. Clearly, this was what he’d been expecting from Zayn. “No one’s making you stay here, pretty boy.”

_Zayn, hey. I know you’ve liked me for a while._

Zayn’s on the verge of a few things. Tears, maybe. Being sick, more than likely. Punching him in the middle of this hallway is the most likely, though. “Are you going to tell me why you can’t seem to leave me alone? Are you _that_ obsessed with me?” Zayn spits.

The little crowd doesn’t say anything; just noticeably tenses. Zayn swallows, regretting it almost as soon as he’d said it. “You think too highly of yourself,” he says, but his voice is shaking.

“Yeah, well. You’re the one who won’t leave me alone, so who’s the obsessed one now?” Zayn counters.

He looks nervous, standing in front of Zayn. Smaller, almost. Zayn doesn’t want to make him feel smaller. He just wants him to _go_.

“I’ll fucking kill you Malik, you hear me?” he says, voice rising. “You don’t think I will, because I fucking _will_.”

He’s taking a step toward Zayn, no one stopping him when he reaches out — gripping the collar of Zayn’s shirt. Zayn has no idea what he’s going to do next. Punch him? Throw him to the ground? A number of scenarios are going through his head now, when there’s a voice down the hallway,

“What the fuck is going on here?”

The reaction is almost immediate. He lets Zayn go, backs away while rubbing his hands on his jeans. “Just getting our boy Zayn ready for lunch,” he says.

Niall approaches him now, gentle hand pressing into Zayn’s arm, keeping him upright and standing. “Yeah, well I think you’ve done enough,” Niall says, firmly. He’s angry. Pissed is more so the word, Zayn thinks after a moment. 

His world is spinning when they walk away, the group of them. And before Zayn can say anything he rushes toward the bathroom, pushing open the door. It’s quiet; his footsteps echo as he gets inside, bracing his hands against the edge of the sink.

Niall’s followed him, Zayn can hear him step inside not that far behind him. He doesn’t say anything, just waits. Zayn tries to get his breathing steady again.

He turns on the tap, splashing some cold water against his face. It takes a few minutes for everything to feel like it’s returned to somewhat normal again, so Zayn doesn’t feel like he’s going to be sick.

“You alright?” Niall asks carefully. Zayn doesn’t say anything.

Instead he reaches out, putting a gentle hand around Niall’s wrist. “What do you say we get out of here?” Niall suggests, gently pressing his thumb on the inside of Zayn’s wrist. “I have an idea.”

Zayn nods, doesn’t think he has it in him to say anything as him and Niall make their way to the parking lot. He doesn’t think about classes, just leans his head back against the headrest as Niall starts the car.

They drive for a few minutes, the familiar town passing them by as Zayn wordlessly stares out the window. He pulls into a familiar plaza; the one Zayn and his sisters go to whenever they’re eating out. He doesn’t ask, just waits.

“This is going to sound, weird,” Niall begins, glancing at Zayn. “But I just — I do this, whenever I’ve had a shit day, or whatever. My mom used to do it with me, when I was younger. I could never like — calm down? So she’d take me to the car wash and play music and it was just, I don’t know. Always makes me feel better.”

Zayn blinks slowly, smiling a little. “Alright,” he says, seeing a bit of the tension ease from Niall’s face, “let’s give it a go.”

He pays for the wash, pulling his car up to the entrance. Niall gives Zayn one last look before turning on the stereo — skipping to track eleven. 

_Settle down with me. Cover me up. Cuddle me in._

Zayn exhales slowly. Lets himself relax as the music fills the car.

_I’m falling for you eyes, but they don’t know me yet._

It’s a few seconds before he feels comfortable reaching over, taking Niall’s hand into his own. Niall grips his gently, only taking a few moments until their fingers are intertwined. 

And, it’s nice. 

_This feels like falling in love, falling in love._

He focuses on the sound of the water — continually hitting the car. On the loud, mechanical sounds; muffled by the inside of the car. Or the way Niall continuously runs his hand over Zayn’s knuckles.

Makes him feel like everything else is gone, at least for a few minutes. In this secluded, run-down carwash, he doesn’t have to think about anything else. And when Zayn opens his eyes, Niall’s still looking at him. He looks away, clearly embarrassed, as Zayn tilts his chin back toward him.

He presses forward, brushing his lips against Niall’s. Niall presses back, one of his hands behind Zayn’s neck, as if steadying them.

It’s nothing but an innocent pressing of lips, but it still manages to send a wave of warmth through him. 

A few moments later, the sunlight’s back on their faces through the clean windshield. Zayn winces, hearing Niall hum along with whatever song is playing now. “Want me to take you home?”

He nods, and Niall doesn’t push the subject anymore. Just drives, and Zayn hears the song repeat through his head.

Niall drops him off with the promise of calling him later, along with forcing Harry and Liam to take notes for Zayn in last period. There’s no cars in the driveway, Zayn opening the door and greeted with a near blissful silence as he toes off his shoes. 

“Don’t you have school?”

He nearly lets out a sound of surprise, hearing Doniya at the top of the stairs. “Don’t you have work?” Zayn throws back, starting up to his room.

“Got sent home sick,” Doniya says, pinching Zayn’s arm. “What’s your excuse?”

“Sick,” Zayn lies, pushing into his room. He closes the door behind him, not up for anymore of his sister’s questioning as he crawls into bed. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up to the sound of his mother knocking on his door. “Zayn? Are you up?”

A little after four thirty, Zayn registers, looking at his clock. “Yeah, I’m up,” he says, rubbing his eyes.

“There’s someone here to see you,” his mom says, opening the door. “Why don’t you come downstairs?”

Zayn nods, slowly getting out of bed as he makes his way downstairs. He hears his sisters in the kitchen, spotting someone in the living room.

Perrie.

Zayn stops, staring at her for moment. “Hi,” he says slowly, unsure. 

“Hi.” Perrie waves back, a little awkward. “I um — I just, wanted to talk to you. Really quick.”

“Sure,” Zayn says. “We can, outside. If you want.”

Perrie nods, stepping out onto the porch. Zayn takes in a deep breath, hands folded in front of himself, not really sure what to expect.

“I heard about what happened today,” Perrie starts. When Zayn doesn’t say anything, she clarifies: “With James.”

Zayn takes in a sharp breath, hearing his name. Reminds himself of the car wash. How loud the water was against the windows and the music in his ears. “That was nothing,” Zayn says, not particularly wanting to talk about it anymore. 

Perrie makes a small, muted sound. Like she’s not fully convinced. Not that Zayn expected her to be. “I know we haven’t, like. Talked in a while,” she starts, her hands wrung awkwardly in front of herself. “But what he did was out of line, and horrible. You didn’t deserve that.”

Zayn licks his lips. He can hear his mother moving around inside; can see her through the glass doors. Probably under some sort of false pretense this means him and Perrie are getting back together.

“Thanks, I guess,” Zayn says, scratching behind his neck. He could go for a cigarette right now. Or a five year long nap, maybe. “You didn’t have to come all this way, though.”

Perrie smiles a little at him, on the verge of sympathetic. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” she says gently, voice how Zayn remembers it.

Doesn’t think he’ll ever forget those lazy weekend afternoons, sitting on the couch in her living room. The radio playing — her tucked into his side where she’d be singing along to whatever song she knew. One of his favourite memories with her, now that he thinks about it.

“I’m okay,” Zayn says, hoping she believes him.

She seems to, because no more questions follow. Instead, she takes a step forward — pressing her lips to his cheek in a silent goodbye, gripping his arm once before walking off to her car.

Zayn watches as she drives away, ignoring the twisting feeling in his stomach as she goes.

— 

The rest of the week goes by, thankfully, with no more run-in’s with James. Probably better Niall doesn’t see him again anyway, he was more pissed about the whole thing than Zayn was.

He’s waiting for Doniya, Niall going to pick up Ethan and Clarissa from school when there’s a voice behind him. “Erm. Zayn?”

He turns, cigarette between his fingers, before he spots Jade. Zayn blinks, nodding to her briefly. “Hey,” he greets.

“I just. I wanted to talk to you quick? If that’s okay,” Jade says, lips pulled into a thin line.

She looks worried almost, Zayn thinks after a few moments. “Yeah, I mean. My ride isn’t here yet so we’re good,” he says, and Jade takes in a deep breath.

“I know that you got a call this weekend — from a lawyer?” Jade starts, and something inside Zayn pulls. Hard. Like he’s going to be sick. “I know that was weird. And there was no sort of warning for it,” she continues, apparently not noticing the reaction Zayn’s having. Almost like his head is fucking screaming at him. “But I told him to call you.”

There isn’t anyone around. And if they’re in the parking lot, they’re not listening. “Why did you do that,” Zayn asks, voice low.

Jade swallows, not taking her eyes off of him. “Because I — I know what happened, Zayn. And I need your story to — help this case along.”

Zayn laughs. Isn’t sure how else to react to this, standing in the middle of the wet parking lot. With the pavement under his docs and the sun hidden behind the clouds. “I can’t do that,” Zayn says, before adding on an apologetic, “I’m sorry. I wish I could help.”

Jade doesn’t change her expression. As if she’d been expecting this from Zayn before she reaches out, placing a card in the palm of his hand. “Just. Think about it, yeah?” she urges, eyes wide and pleading.

His mouth feels dry, looking at the card. There’s a man’s face on it he doesn’t know. “I’ll think about it,” Zayn finally promises her, seeing Doniya pull up into the parking lot.

“Alright, well. I’ll see you around then, I guess,” Jade says, giving him one last look before walking off to her car.

He stands there a few moments, reading the card over again. It’s not until Doniya honks the horn insistently that Zayn finally snaps out of it, walking over to her and getting into the front seat. 

_Think about it_. Jade’s voice rings through his head again, as they are driving off towards their house.

— 

Zayn’s on his bed, not having done much except pace his room and stare at the card Jade gave him; until there’s a knock on his door.

“Yeah,” Zayn calls, the door opening and revealing his youngest sister, Safaa.

Zayn glances over at her, sitting up. “What’s that?” he asks, looking at the mug in her tiny hands.

“Brought you some tea,” she says. He takes the mug carefully, putting it onto his bedside table before helping her onto his bed. “Mom said you’re sick.”

“Thanks, babe.” Zayn tells her, kissing the top of her head. It’s the usual chai his mom makes, taking a sip and grateful for the warmth. 

Safaa settles against him comfortably, pausing as she reaches for the card in his hand. “Who’s that?” she asks, motioning to the man in the corner. 

_George Langley_ it reads above his unfamiliar face in noticeable lettering. Zayn thumbs over it before he says, “No one.”

She makes a face, but doesn’t ask again. Just continues to sit quietly as Zayn continues to press the issue with himself, over and over. Does he call? Or does he leave it. If he leaves it, then he’s not going to help Jade. But if he calls — well. Then he has to actually _deal_ with it. 

Sometime after Safaa falls asleep, Zayn finally decides to get up. He stands, slowly, smoothing some of her hair — pressing a kiss to it before making his way downstairs. In his pocket, his phone buzzes.

 _Come play Soccer !_ it’s Niall. About half a minute later, it buzzes again. _get ur butt to the soccerfield_ Louis. And last but not least, _Zaaaaaayn. Come play with us :)_ Harry.

 _where?_ Zayn sends Niall, seeing the small typing bubble pop up.

 _Picking U up in 10 !_ he replies almost immediately.

And true to his word, Niall’s there almost exactly ten minutes later. Zayn puts out the end of his cigarette, seeing Niall grinning from the driver’s seat. 

“Did all of you have a sudden craving for playing sports on a Friday evening?” Zayn asks, opening the door of the car.

“Liam and I were bored,” Niall says simply, shrugging. “We were going over stuff for the radio show. Last one before you take it over.”

Zayn swallows, a small pang of nerves hitting him when Niall says this. “Just a one-time take over deal though, right?” he asks, hearing Niall laugh.

“I mean, you’d have to fight Harry to be in charge of our show. He’s taken to referring it as his child,” Niall says. Zayn shudders. 

He doesn’t feel up for much talking, but Niall doesn’t seem to mind. Just keeps his hand on the wheel and hums to a song that’s vaguely familiar to Zayn where he’s sitting. One of those slower ones that plays every few radio shows; it’s grown to be one of his favourites.

“Got some paint on your arm,” Niall points out, their hands intertwined now.

Zayn nods, “Was doing some earlier, before you came.”

Niall nods, licking his lips. “Wouldn’t mind seeing it sometime,” he says, looking over at Zayn with a small smile.

It’s not long until they pull up into the parking lot of an old field, the lights on and Zayn can see Harry — kicking a ball to Liam, who’s beside Louis. He pauses, hand on his seatbelt as Niall laughs loudly. “Don’t even know why we let Harry play, honestly,” he jokes, getting out of the car as Zayn follows behind him.

There’s no real form to this game. Mostly it’s them shouting, Liam and Louis arguing, and Zayn watching on in mild amusement. 

He’s sitting on the grass, a little off to the side when Harry yells in their victory which, isn’t true. They lost by a lot. But no one tells him this, lets him instead stay blissfully unaware as Niall lays down beside Zayn, breathing heavily. 

“Gross,” Zayn says as Niall grins, sweat glistening on his forehead. 

“What, don’t you like them sweaty?” Niall asks, wiggling his eyebrows. Zayn groans, pushing Niall’s face away from him with his hand gently. 

“Horan! Help me clean this shit up!” Louis calls from the field, tossing a handful of grass toward them. 

Niall rolls his eyes, pushing himself up as he jogs back across the field. Harry’s helping, though not by much, as Liam puts the last of the items into a large gym bag. Zayn doesn’t move, instead waiting as they approach him — Louis smirking toward him.

“Malik gets off easy again, doesn’t he?” Louis asks, kicking at his knee.

“I mean, he didn’t play,” Niall says.

Louis snorts, flicking his arm. “Stop defending your boyfriend,” he says.

Harry cackles, soliciting a pinch of his ear from Zayn. Liam makes a small sound behind them, “Stop fighting, you hear me?”

They go for ice cream afterward, when Harry and Louis are finished bickering and they’ve all managed to get into two cars in one piece. “You okay?” Niall asks as they pull into the parking lot.

“Fine,” Zayn says easily, unbuckling himself. “Let’s get inside before they take down this entire building,” he adds, and Niall doesn’t argue as they both get out.

Later, when they’re back in Niall’s car, he tastes like ice cream and Zayn finds himself focusing on that than anything else going on in his head.

They’d talked a lot about what they were doing over the summer. Harry, Liam, and Niall are still doing the radio show once a week — along with their part time jobs, apparently. Louis and Zayn with their usual jobs; Louis at the local video rental store, Zayn with his modelling. 

“Let’s see if your game will improve this summer, Styles,” Niall joked, tossing a napkin at him across the table.

Harry scowled in his usual fashion, but it was nice — having the five of them together. Like they made sense, all together, sitting there. 

Zayn’s lips are a bit raw by the time him and Niall separate, knocking their foreheads together. “Should get inside,” he says softly, and Niall makes a small sound of disagreement. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Niall says, voice soft as he tries to straighten out Zayn’s collar best he can. 

“Mhm,” Zayn hums in response, pressing his lips to Niall’s forehead gently. “At the mall, right?”

Niall nods, smiling bright despite the dark night sky, “Five o’clock. Don’t be late, you hear me Malik?”

“Never been late to a photo shoot before,” Zayn says, trying to sound casual about it as he hears Niall snort. “Won’t make a habit of it this time.”

“Alright,” Niall says, licking his lips before pressing one last kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn gives Niall’s hand one last squeeze before getting out of the car, walking up the house and stepping in the front door. 

“Niall again?” his mom asks as he walks into the kitchen, startled to hear her voice.

He pauses, looking over at her before shrugging. “Went out for some ice cream,” Zayn says.

His mom smiles a little, putting down her mug as she pushes her reading glasses up on top of her head. “It’s late. You should get some sleep,” she says quietly.

Zayn nods, looking down at the book in front of her. “What are you reading?” he asks, watching as she closes it.

“Just a book. Not sure if I like it too much,” she tells Zayn, kissing the top of his head.

He doesn’t say anything else, just leaves her in the dim light of the kitchen as he makes his way upstairs — falling into bed sometime later.

— 

It’s six in the morning. Zayn can’t sleep. 

He still hasn’t thrown out the card Jade gave him, sitting on the night table beside him. Like it’s taunting him, or haunting him. He can’t figure out which it would be, at this rate. 

Somewhere around six thirty he finally gets out of bed, knowing he isn’t going to get any sleep staying where he is. Surprisingly, everyone else is asleep when he gets down to the kitchen. There’s a bit of sunlight pouring through the window, enough that he can still read the card where it’s in his hand.

Zayn swallows, reaching for a pair of keys hanging on the hooks beside the fridge, making his way out to the car. He’s still in his sweatpants, not bothering to change out of them as he gets into the driver’s seat.

Doniya’s home today, no shoots for any of them — by some small miracle. He puts the card in his sweater pocket, and drives.

His phone’s nearly dead in the cup holder, not really making an effort to check it as Zayn grips the steering wheel. 

Has no idea where he’s going, doesn’t want to think about it. Everything starts to blend together, throat tight as he tries to remind himself to breathe. It helps a little, but not nearly enough, as he soon feels tears warm his eyes.

Fuck.

It’s nearly seven thirty when Zayn stops in front of a familiar house. Liam’s. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zayn had intentions of going to Louis’ house. Telling him everything — unloading it all right there on his front step. But somehow, he’d ended up here.

He gets out slowly, chest tight and hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he knocks on the front door.

Karen Payne opens it, looking rather surprised where she’s standing in her bathrobe. “Zayn?” she asks, face brightening. “It’s been — it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Zayn nods, swallowing thickly. “Is, um. Is Liam home maybe?”

She nods, “I can get him, if you want? Come inside.”

Zayn shakes his head, forcing a small smile. “I won’t be long,” he says, and Karen nods.

“Let me grab him,” she says, before adding, “it’s really nice to see you, Zayn,” and going back inside.

It’s nearly ten minutes until the door opens again, with Liam stepping gingerly outside. He stares at Zayn a few moments, as if making sure he’s really seeing this. Zayn pauses, seeing Liam’s still sleepy, puffy eyes, as he takes in a deep breath.

“What are you — doing here?” Liam asks finally. He doesn’t sound angry; just tired.

Zayn shifts, running a hand through his hair. And that’s when it seems to happen, when the dam Zayn’s built up inside himself breaks, starting in his chest.

Liam’s arms are there before Zayn completely collapses, strong but also gentle at the same time. Warm, and with the steadiness Zayn has always known to be inside of Liam. 

His world’s spinning, cheeks wet and the tightness in his chest briefly gone as Liam just holds him. Out there, on his porch, with cars driving past without a care in the world — Zayn stays, doesn’t move. He grips Liam’s sweater, smells the familiar scene of cinnamon and spearmint, the two things Zayn’s always thought of when thinking of Liam, over the years.

The question comes eventually, when they’re sitting on a small bench by the front door. After Zayn’s wiped his eyes and Liam helped him sit down. He asks slowly, concern laced in his words as Zayn closes his eyes for a few moments; trying to regain some sort of composure.

“Zayn? Is everything — alright?”

And that’s when he tells Liam. Right there, at number eighty two Mulberry Crescent, does he finally say what he’s needed to say for almost a year, now.

About the party. About James; about Zayn finding James in a bedroom — making out with someone he didn’t know. He’d tried to excuse himself, nearly one step out of the door when James reeled him back in, didn’t let him leave. 

Saying it out loud, as much as he rambles or tells himself he shouldn’t be saying anything, Zayn can slowly feel the relief start to settle in. To loosen the way his chest has somehow started to be increasingly tight over the past few months; but with each word it feels like that’s all unravelling now, inside of him. Not the sort of unravelling where it feels like the world is falling apart, but the kind where it feels like everything’s coming together. As if Zayn can finally, /finally/, see that light at the end of the tunnel. 

Liam doesn’t say anything. Just sits, hands in his lap and his gaze never once leaving Zayn as he talks. 

“And have you told anyone about this?” Liam asks slowly. He’s got a hand on Liam’s arm, gripping gently. Like an anchor, feels like.

Zayn shakes his head. His hands are twisted together in his lap as he stares at them resolutely. “Just you.”

Liam takes in a deep breath, staying quiet for a few moments. “I think,” he starts, voice surprisingly steady, “you should talk to someone.”

He reaches into his sweater pocket, taking out the card and putting it into Liam’s hand. “Jade gave this to me,” Zayn says after a moment quietly. 

It’s a moment before Liam registers what it is, turning the lawyer’s card in his hand a few times. 

“I know this guy,” he says finally. Zayn pauses, blinks. “My dad — used to work with him,” Liam clarifies after a moment.

His dad’s a lawyer, Zayn reminds himself. Somehow he’d forgotten that. “Is he good?” Zayn asks, apprehensive.

“Really good,” Liam says. He looks at Zayn hand, giving the card back. 

A silence stretches between them, Zayn running his thumb over the card again. “Alright,” he settles on saying. 

“I think you should talk to him,” Liam adds.

The sun’s higher up in the sky now, though Zayn doesn’t know what time it is anymore. Left his phone in the car, he realizes after a few moments as he takes in a deep breath. “I should go,” Zayn says slowly, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

“No, you don’t. Have to go,” Liam says, low and sincere. “I know — things were weird, for a while. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends now, right?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, forcing a small smile.

“Mom’s making breakfast, I think,” Liam says. “Said she wants you to come in, if you can. Missed having you around.”

He can hear movement from inside, the sounds of voices and food inviting to Zayn, at least. Which is why he finds himself slowly standing, agreeing to breakfast and sticking around for an episode or two of Agents of Shield with Liam, maybe.

— 

Zayn remembers halfway home, nearly pulling his car into a ditch when he curses loudly. It’s five thirty. He’s missed Clarissa’s fashion show.

Feeling like he’s going to be sick Zayn pulls off to the side of the road, taking his phone off the charger and dialling Niall’s number.

Niall answers after two rings, “Hello?” 

Zayn can feel the dread stick in his throat, making the words hard to get out. “I’m so, so sorry. I was with Liam and we just — my phone died? And that’s not an excuse, I’m not using it as one. I completely, I forgot. I’m so sorry, Niall. Fuck, I’m so. So incredibly sorry.”

A pause follows, and Zayn knows that’s not a good thing. Not when it comes to Niall, anyway. “It’s alright, we uh. We figured it out. She came in third,” Niall says.

Zayn presses his forehead against the metal of the car, sighing. It’s hot from the sun, warm against his skin as he closes his eyes — tries to think of the world’s best apology he could possibly give Niall, now. Or a way to somehow miraculously take away the disappointment in his tone.

“That’s great, I’m sure she did great,” Zayn says, pressing his lips together. “I’m so sorry, Niall.”

“I have to go. We’ve got — people over,” Niall says, voice softer than Zayn’s ever heard it. 

“Alright, yeah. I’ll, talk to you later?” Zayn asks, knocking his fist against the window.

“Later, sure,” Niall says. “Bye, Zayn.”

The call disconnects and Zayn kicks the door, hard, cursing once again. 

— 

Niall doesn’t call. And instead of calling him, Zayn stares at his phone and tries to find some sort of way to turn back time and leave Liam’s house in time to get to Clarissa’s show in time.

And when he does dial a number, it isn’t Niall’s, pressing the phone to his ear and remembering the words Liam had told him earlier that day.

“Hello, Mr. Langely? It’s um, Zayn Malik. We met the other day?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zayn finally starts talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost done!!! just one chapter left. writing this has been INSANE but i've enjoyed it, and i hope you have as well. next chapter will be up in the next couple of weeks. thank you again for reading, you're the best.
> 
> as always -- there's warnings of anxiety, and mentions of past rape. it doesn't go into detail, but still. 
> 
> big big thanks to blake, janelle, and ani, the loves of my life. for listening to my whine -- answering my in all caps texts, and just generally putting up with me. you deserve medals, honestly.

“What the fuck are we supposed to be doing, anyway.”

Liam laughs, “You’re supposed to talk into the _microphone_ , Louis.”

Louis makes a face, clearly unimpressed. He taps a finger against the microphone. Zayn holds back his own laugh, watching as Liam shakes his head. 

“I don’t like this.” Louis stares at the paper in front of him. 

Zayn snorts, feeling closed in where he’s sitting in his own chair. He needs a smoke. “I thought you would love the chance for everyone to be graced with your voice,” he comments.

Louis glares at him a few moments, “No one’s going to be listening at six in the fucking morning on a Sunday.”

“Probably shouldn’t say fucking on the radio,” Liam unhelpfully adds. Louis flips him off.

“Well, while you’re trying to figure out the technologies of a microphone, I’m going for a smoke,” Zayn excuses himself, pushing his chair back.

It’s warm; Zayn’s tank top feeling like too many layers as he steps out onto the concrete. There’s a pack of smokes in his back pocket, nearly half empty as he puts one between his lips. It’s so hot it feels like he can’t fucking breathe, the air humid and uncomfortable.

He shields the end of his cigarette, lighting it. Exhales the smoke, watches as it swirls into the air in the next few moments that pass. 

He’s fucking exhausted. It’s Saturday night, and they’ve still got the run through the entire show — and then after that Zayn’s still got a meeting with George Langley tonight, at his offices downtown.

Zayn feels sick thinking about it. So he doesn’t; just leans against the brick wall of the radio station and tries to go through the playlist again, over the notes him and Liam had written out the other night.

“Got one for me?”

He half expects it to be Louis, but it’s Liam. Zayn blinks in mild surprise, staring at him for about half a minute. “You smoke?” he asks, handing one to Liam.

Liam hums, accepting it from Zayn — along with the lighter. “Occasionally,” he says, smiling a little. 

They stand in a brief silence; the smell of smoke settles between them. Liam flicks the end of his cigarette, studying Zayn before he says, “How’s — everything going?”

It’s a little awkward, but Zayn will take it. If only because Liam’s got that concerned expression on his face, waiting for a response. With his cigarette now done, Zayn shrugs, putting the heel of his boot over the end of it. “Got a meeting this afternoon,” he says slowly. “Kind of dreading it, if I’m honest.”

Liam nods. “It’ll be good though,” he says gently.

“I guess so,” Zayn says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Once Liam’s finished up they head back inside, though Zayn’s unasked question repeats in his head. ‘How is he?’ knowing he should’ve just asked Liam, while he had the chance.

But he just slides back into his chair, listening to Louis’ continued ranting, and reminds himself that he’ll be home soon enough.

— 

Zayn hasn’t spoken to Niall in almost two weeks. It feels longer than that where Zayn’s sitting at lunch; in the library and away from mostly everyone. 

He has hardly touched his food, instead going over his homework that he can’t seem to focus on. Everything’s just a bit blurry — just slightly out of his reach, like his head can hardly wrap itself around anything.

It’s always on the back of his mind, without even having to vocalize it. His meeting the other night with Mr. Langley had gone well enough, though only making Zayn feel like he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing anymore.

He misses Niall, and hates himself a bit more each time he thinks it. It’s not like he doesn’t want to talk to Niall, because he _does_. Sat up in his bed most of the night a few times this week, phone in hand, debating if he should text him. Ask him to come over — so they can talk it out. So that Zayn can tell him why he’s pulling away; why he’s shutting everyone out.

Maybe he’s better off alone.

“Hey.” Louis’ voice takes Zayn out of his thoughts, looking over to see him staring at him. “You — uh. Waiting for anyone?”

Zayn shakes his head and Louis moves to sit beside him. They sit in mostly silence, a few people wandering the bookshelves as Zayn doesn’t pay them much attention.

“Going to tell me what’s going on?” Louis asks. Zayn shakes his head again. Louis sighs, apparently giving up though he still doesn’t move from his chair. “Are you okay though?”

Honestly, Zayn has no idea how to answer that. He shrugs, running a hand through his hair before casting a glance toward Louis. He’s wearing a beanie and track pants, the usual Louis Tomlinson outfit, hands folded in front of himself with a surprisingly patient look on his face. 

Zayn presses his finger into a word engraved into the table; Fuck Chemistry. He keeps his eyes focused on that. “I’m okay,” Zayn says. It’s somewhere close to the truth, so he doesn’t consider it to be lying. 

“Alright,” Louis says, voice quiet. He hesitates before standing, bag over his shoulder before gripping Zayn’s gently. “If you — you know. Need anything, you have my number.”

Zayn nods, Louis giving him one last look before heading out the doors, the first bell ringing and everyone walking to their classes. 

Deciding against skipping class, Zayn takes his own bag as he heads off to next period. He stops off at his locker, putting in the combination and opening the metal door. Halfway getting his books stuffed into his bag, he looks up to see Niall chatting to Greg James. He’s about to look away, until Niall catches his gaze. Zayn feels his chest tighten — holding a breath caught somewhere in his throat, nearly dropped his textbook right onto his foot.

Niall looks tired. Like he does on the nights Ethan keeps him up, eyes puffy and dark circles colouring his skin. He doesn’t look away. Just stays focused on Zayn, and that’s when the regret twists something inside of Zayn’s stomach so violently he needs to look away.

Harry gives him a small wave as he enters the classroom, accompanied with a sad smile. Liam grips Zayn’s shoulder, similar to what Louis had done in the library earlier. It’s nice — sends a moment of relief through Zayn in response as he grips his pencil, looking up ahead at the chalkboard.

— 

Liam comes by later that night, Zayn’s mom coming upstairs sometime after dinner to tell him. Zayn pauses, checking his phone to see if he’d missed some kind of text telling him Liam was coming. There isn’t one, but sure enough, Liam’s in his living room when Zayn comes downstairs.

His mom’s talking to Liam, her face bright and smiling, “It’s so nice to see you Liam, really. It’s been so long, hasn’t it?”

Liam nods, giving Zayn an amused look. “I’ll be around more often, I’m sure.”

Zayn’s mom looks absolutely delighted by this, patting Liam’s cheek before she leaves the room with a promise of making tea for them. “The tea is just a ploy to get you to stay,” Zayn says. 

Liam laughs quietly, shrugging. “I can stay a bit. My mom doesn’t need the car because it’s Friday, anyway. Ruth’s dance lessons aren’t till tomorrow.”

“Honoured you can spare some of your schedule for me,” Zayn jokes, holding up his packet of cigarettes. Liam nods in understanding, the two of them heading out onto Zayn’s porch. It’s raining, just a bit, the sound of it hitting the roof ringing in Zayn’s ears as he hands one to Liam.

“I did come for a reason, though,” Liam starts awkwardly.

Zayn exhales, nodding. “Is it about Sunday? Because Louis and I think we’re good to go,” he says.

Liam shakes his head. He reaches into a bag Zayn hadn’t even notice he’d been carrying, pulling out something that looks familiar to Zayn. It’s a few moments before he knows what it is, brows furrowing as he swallows.

It’s his sweater. The one he’d given Niall, the first time he’d gone over there. When they’d stayed up late holding hands in his living room.

“I don’t — I told him I didn’t want to get involved,” Liam says. He’s giving Zayn that same, sympathetic look he knows too well. “But he just, I don’t know. Doesn’t think you want to see him, or something. Wanted me to give this to you.”

Zayn blinks. He doesn’t reach out to take it, the taste of smoke strong on his tongue. There’s an ache starting in his chest; getting more prominent with each moment that passes in silence.

“You can have this back, you know,” Niall had told him just a few weeks ago. They’d been in Zayn’s room on a Sunday afternoon, after breakfast. He’d been wearing that sweater then, on Zayn’s bed and looking at a few of his sketches.

“It’s alright,” Zayn told him, meaning it. “You can keep it for a bit. Got a million of them, seems like.”

Niall grinned, thumb pressing into the bone of Zayn’s ankle gently. “Perks of being a model for a department store, yeah?” he teased, no real heat behind it. 

The sun had been coming through the window and Zayn had known then, looking at him. Feeling Niall’s warm skin under the palm of his hand, hearing his laughter echo in his room. 

Liam is still holding it out, waiting for Zayn to take it. But Zayn doesn’t want too. Because if he takes that sweater, then it’s really over. Everything they’d had, is just done. Something else adds to the ache in his chest; feeling like anger starting to bubble underneath it. 

Zayn’s angry. Has been for a long time, but is only just starting to feel it now. “Thanks, Liam,” he says. 

Seeming to get that Zayn’s not really up for talking, Liam takes a small step forward. Puts the sweater down onto the bench, leaving it there and walks off to his car in the rain. There’s droplets on his jacket, getting into the driver’s seat and starting off down their driveway.

He didn’t get to finish his cigarette. The end of it is at Zayn’s feet, hardly touched, and his hands are shaking for another one as he reaches into the pocket of his jeans.

It’s fucking cold. Zayn doesn’t let himself think too much of it; puts his arms through the sleeves and tells himself that it doesn’t smell like Niall. That the smell of his cologne isn’t strong, that he doesn’t remember what Niall smells like.

It doesn’t even smell like Zayn anymore. He lights the end of his cigarette, a small part of him hoping the smell of it doesn’t take away the bit of Niall still clinging to his sweater. 

Zayn pauses, though, when he puts his hand into the pocket. He pulls it back out to see Niall’s iPod in his hands, staring at it for a few moments. Finishes his second cigarette, putting it out and steps back inside.

Liam would always make a case of constantly telling Niall to “keep better track of his shit”. He remembers one afternoon, they’d been at Niall’s house — all of them, including Louis and Eleanor — Liam had found Niall’s phone abandoned somewhere in the backseat of his car. 

“Don’t expect me to find it again for you,” Liam told him, tossing Niall’s phone onto his chest. “You know you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your body.”

Niall had his head in Zayn’s lap, Zayn’s fingers running through his hair as he’d grinned up at Liam something like an apology. “Zayn likes my body. Don’t ya Zayn,” he said confidently, wiggling his eyebrows.

Zayn looked up and down Niall lazily, ignoring Louis and Harry’s cat calling, before quietly agreeing, “Yeah, I do.”

Liam groaned. “Love you Payno,” Niall called over to him from the corner of the room.

Niall had gotten this for himself a little while back, because apparently his phone couldn’t hold all the music he’d tried to put on it — buying this was apparently inevitable, according to Harry. It feels like a weight in Zayn’s hand as he makes his way upstairs, thankful his mom doesn’t stop and ask him about Liam’s random appearance in their doorstep. Kicks the door shut to his room and moves to sit on the edge of his bed.

The background of it is him and Niall, a terrible selfie of them one afternoon after taking Ethan and Clarissa to the aquarium. He punches in the passcode, because Niall had been so trusting and given it to Zayn — so opposite of himself, he thinks as it unlocks. His fingers go first to the photos, body itching to remember, even if a part of him is saying what a bad idea this is. 

He’s only able to flip through a handful of pictures until Zayn can’t take it anymore, closing out of them. It feels like he’s looking for something now, for some kind of proof that Niall isn’t good like he is — like Zayn believes him to be. That there should be some sort of Niall that’s bad, like everything else Zayn’s ever touched. Not letting himself admit the real reason is that he misses Niall, and this iPod is the closest thing he has to him right now. 

After going through a few notes and apps he clicks on the music button, red at the bottom of the screen. Zayn freezes. Niall been listening to a playlist entitled ‘Zayn’.

Against his better judgement, Zayn clicks it. Immediately the chords to I Want It That Way start playing through the small speakers at the bottom, and that’s when Zayn’s chest starts to heave — breathing getting heavier. Some part of himself Zayn can’t seem to contain wants him to run. To get a jacket and run in the rain, straight to Niall’s house. Show up on his doorstep, breathless and wet, and tell him everything.

Why Zayn is the way he is. Why he does the thing he does, but that’s the problem with him; always has been. He doesn’t know how to use his fucking _words_. A teacher of his had commented on it once, when Zayn didn’t tell them he was feeling well — and ended up being sick in the middle of class. He remembers his father asking him about it. Zayn had shrugged, unable to say why exactly he didn’t tell the teacher. There’s always been this inability to communicate with people; it doesn’t come to him as easily as it does to everyone else. He’s always thinking of the potential consequences.

Maybe that’s from growing up in such an ugly business like modelling. Or maybe it’s being surrounded by people who took everything he said and did and twisted it until it benefited them. Or maybe it’s a combination of both. Or _maybe_ it’s neither, and he’s just the way he is with no reason. But reason or not, there’s no way for him to explain how he feels.

Zayn’s never really had that need for his parents to accept his eccentricities, has known that for a long time. Not even with Perrie, or anyone. And now — for the first time in his life, Zayn has someone he trusts. That he wants to tell, and that he wants to have understand. He knows Niall would; understand. Knows that without a fucking doubt. 

But Zayn doesn’t have it in him to try. Which is the worst part, probably. Because Zayn’s the one who caused this. It’s his fault, all of it. And there’s not a fucking thing he can do about it.

There’s the sound of his family downstairs — all in the living room watching a movie, as he crawls into bed. Puts his headphones and listens to Niall’s playlist, letting himself drift off to sleep and tells himself he’ll deal with it some other day, possibly.

— 

He’s supposed to get a call sometime the next day from Mr. Langley, telling him when the court date is. 

It doesn’t come in the morning, and sometime in the afternoon he’s sent on errands, such as getting Safaa to her dancing lessons, picking up some groceries and take out for dinner, before finally getting home.

His dad’s car is in the driveway when Zayn gets there, Safaa running through the front door as Zayn steps inside. “Hello?” he calls out, toeing off his shoes, “I have dinner!”

Still no response. Zayn sighs, taking the heavy bags up to the kitchen as he sets them down onto the counter.

That’s when he finds his mom, at the kitchen table with his dad. Doniya’s there too — phone in the middle of the table as Zayn stares at them, unsure.

“Zayn,” his mom starts, voice shaking. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

It’s all very strange and formal, coming to sit beside his sister. He doesn’t ask why his father’s home, the sun starting to set behind them as he clears his throat. “What’s this about?” he asks finally, trying to get some sort of answer out of them.

“I just got off the phone with someone,” his mom says slowly. Zayn watches as his father grips her hand, gently. “From a Mr. George Langley? Why are you talking to lawyers, Zayn?”

This room feels too small, too hot; Zayn inhales sharply. Grips one hand around his own thigh, knuckles white as he grinds his teeth together. He should’ve stayed home. Should’ve been here for when the call came through. 

“It’s nothing,” Zayn says quickly, shaking his head. “Not important.”

“He asked me to write down your court date, for when you’ll be appearing,” his mother continues, handing off a piece of paper with her writing on it.

June twenty-third, nine am, Zayn reads in a small fit of panic. It’s nearing the end of April now, so there’s time, but it still somehow doesn’t feel like enough.

“Zayn.” His father speaks up now, voice serious and firm.

There’s no way around it, not anymore. No lies or excuse he can come up with that could possibly convince them that this isn’t what it seems to be. He has to tell them. He has to tell them here, now, in the middle of his kitchen with no sort of idea what the fuck he’s doing.

Zayn has to tell them.

So he opens his mouth, and does just that. 

They’re silent almost the whole time, which is something that surprises Zayn. He doesn’t really have any sort of idea of how they’ll react, but won’t let himself focus on that.

Zayn feels like he’s waiting for something. Some sort of reaction; maybe anger, possibly them being upset at him. But it doesn’t come, not where he’s sitting in his chair — silently bracing himself for the outcome. 

Instead, his mother stands — making her way around the table and hugging him. She’s gentle, smelling like tea and warm against him, as Zayn hugs her back. His eyes are warm, wetness growing and prickling as he closes them. Doniya joins in, her arms wrapped over their mom as they stay there for a while; Zayn isn’t sure how long until they all pull apart.

Not what he’d been expecting at all, then. Zayn stares at them, his mother pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you,” she tells him, feeling his dad’s hand on his shoulder — warm and comforting, “and we’ll be there on June twenty-third, alright?”

Zayn nods, still a bit stunned. Dinner’s delayed by a little while, mostly because Zayn’s left to explain a few other small details about the lawyer, court, and everything else while Doniya sets plates onto the table. 

They eat in mostly silence, which gives Zayn at least a bit of time to try and clear his head best he can while moving some food around on his plate.

He gets the idea after putting some of their plates into the dishwasher, his mom turning on the kettle for tea. “Can I —” Zayn starts. His dad and sister are gone into the living room. She turns to face him. “Borrow the car for a bit? I won’t be long.”

She hesitates, not saying anything for about half a minute before nodding. “Not too late, alright?” she says, handing him the keys.

Zayn kisses her cheek, giving her hand one last gentle grip before going out to the car. It’s a clear night, the roads practically empty as Zayn takes the familiar way to a familiar house.

He knocks on the door. When it opens, he sees Clarissa in a bright pink dress. She lets out a loud, excited sound; reaching for Zayn’s hand, practically pulling him inside.

“You can’t just start _screaming_. You need to use your words, Riss, haven’t we already gone over —”

Niall stops mid sentence, seeing Zayn. Clarissa is rambling on about her fashion show Zayn had missed, still gripping his hand tightly and saying something about a trophy upstairs, when Zayn finally speaks. “Hi,” he says slowly.

“Hey,” Niall responds, hands shoved into his pockets. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I know,” Zayn says. “I just — I need to talk to you, if that’s alright?”

Niall chews his lower lip, considering. “Just. Let me get them to bed, and I’ll be down in a bit,” he promises.

He sits by the table, Ethan and Clarissa’s voices talking loudly over one another upstairs. Zayn waits. Niall’s voice is quieter, and he’s unable to make out any of his words from where he’s sitting in the kitchen.

It’s somewhat of a battle, getting them all ready for bed. Zayn has seen Niall deal with it countless times, and tonight is no exception. And when he finally hears Niall’s footsteps coming down the stairs, a small pang of nerves run through him.

“If you’re coming to tell me you can’t do the show tomorrow, I’m sure Liam can take over,” Niall begins, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m not here about the radio show,” Zayn says.

“Then what are you here for,” Niall asks. He’s tired, looks confused and a little sad — from what Zayn can see on his expression. 

And there, in his kitchen, Zayn tells him. About the party, about James. What happened, why that’s the reason he’s going to court in the first place. Tells Niall about how he’d had only a few drinks, and how he knows what happened wasn’t right. 

Talks about Mr. Langley, and his court date. After telling his parents it all sort of tumbles out; Zayn’s not even sure he could hold it all in if he tried. Much like his family Niall stays quiet, sitting patiently with his arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. 

When he’s done, Niall’s leg is moving up and down — jaw set in a hard line. He’s muttering something about being angry before he speaks, addressing Zayn. “I’m sorry,” he starts. Zayn doesn’t say anything. “I’m just. Fuck, Zayn, I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Niall pushes himself away from the table a few moments later, pacing the room and talking quietly to himself once more. Zayn catches snippets of it, Niall telling himself how awful he is — which. Zayn isn’t sure he agrees with.

Zayn sits there, shell shocked because he always just sort of assumed that if he ever told people they would ask him what he did, or if he’d encouraged it in any way. Always thought that everyone would react the same way he does, by thinking it’s his fault so he had this idea in his head that he did something, or that he’s to blame. 

But everyone’s reaction has been the completely opposite. 

“No, hey —” Zayn murmurs quietly, tugging Niall closer by his wrist. Niall follows, falling into Zayn’s lap. “You’re not the worst,” he says.

Niall closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against Zayn’s. There’s pictures hanging along the wall of the kitchen; Niall’s mom had pointed them out one of the first afternoons Zayn had spent here. Some of Niall, others of Greg. A couple of Greg and Niall. “Always a miracle they sat still for that long,” Maura had told Zayn, smiling up at him.

Zayn takes in a deep breath, feeling the press of Niall’s palms against his chest. “I don’t want this to change how you see me, I guess,” Zayn says. “I don’t want this to change us.”

He covers one of Niall’s hands with his own. “Not gonna change anything,” Niall tells him truthfully, eyes wide and sincere. “But I _am_ going to kill James.”

Zayn shakes his head, feeling Niall’s nose brush against his own. “Don’t think that’s the best idea you’ve had, babe.”

Niall doesn’t say anything, pressing his thumb lightly into Zayn’s palm; like he used to do. It says more than words, Zayn thinks to himself. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

Niall hums, “Are we _finally_ going to be able to watch The Dark Knight Rises?”

“I mean, unless you’d rather watch How to Train Your Dragon again…” Zayn trails off. Niall shakes his head, laughing quietly.

And it’s nice, sitting with Niall. Zayn’s got to be up early for the radio show, but can’t bring himself to care as he sits on the couch — Niall pressed up against him, playing with Zayn’s fingers absently. 

He watches movies so vocally, is the thing. Always shifting and making these small, surprised noises every time something catches him off-guard. Mutters stuff like, “oh, shit,” and, “no, no, no _no_ ,” repeatedly into Zayn’s shoulder.

Makes it hard to not find adorable, if Zayn’s honest.

The movie ends close to midnight, and Zayn can barely keep his eyes open as he makes his way toward the door. “I’ll drive,” Niall says, mind made up. 

“What, no,” Zayn argues feebly, taking the keys out of his pocket. 

“You’re asleep on your feet, Malik. I can’t let you drive home in good conscience,” Niall continues, motioning for the keys. Zayn hands them over without another argument. “Plus, I don’t want to stop holding your hand yet.”

Zayn ducks his head so Niall can’t see the ridiculously large smile on his face, getting into the front seat of Niall’s truck. It’s quiet, neither of them talking in a comfortable silence. Niall turns on the radio, keeping it low.

His hands are warm, like they always are. With the same callouses from where he plays the guitar, nails bitten off and a loose bracelet always around his wrist. Used to be Greg’s.

He almost says it, when they’re two minutes out from Zayn’s house. Knows what the words would sound like in the stillness, with the engine humming and the streetlights illuminating the road.

But Zayn’s not sure he has to say it, yet. Thinks Niall has a pretty good idea of it already.

There’s a light on in the living room, Zayn’s mom texting him a little while ago to be home soon, as they slowly get out. 

It feels like in the porch light, with Niall smiling up at him, that they could stay here forever. Not get old, not have to do anything but just — be here. Zayn wouldn’t mind that, he thinks to himself. Niall clears his throat.

“I’ll see you Monday?” he says after a few moments. Him and Harry have some sort of conference tomorrow, for local radio shows in this area. 

“Yeah,” Zayn tells him. “Won’t go disappearing on you this time.”

Niall takes a step toward him. “I really care about you.” Niall says slowly, lips so close they almost brush against Zayn’s as he speaks. 

“I know,” Zayn says, curling a hand around Niall’s waist.

“No, but like,” Niall pauses, clicking his tongue. “ _Really_ care about you.”

There’s weight to his words. Zayn feels like in the back of his mind that should scare him, maybe. Set off some kind of red flag.

He smiles, feeling Niall’s breath warm across his cheek. “I know,” Zayn repeats.

Zayn leans forward, pressing his lips to Niall’s cheek. It’s painted with a bit of stubble, though with Niall that means hardly anything — before he pulls away.

“I’ll send you my full review tomorrow,” Niall promises, reluctantly letting go of Zayn’s hand.

He nods, watching Niall walk off toward his truck. Zayn feels Niall’s skin against his lips all the way upstairs and into bed.

— 

“I’m Zayn Malik, subbing in for Niall Horan, giving you your weekly dose of Anger Managment on Sunday mornings,” Zayn says into the microphone, feeling horribly self conscious while doing so. Liam gives him a thumbs up, so he continues, “also joined by my partner in crime, Louis Tomlinson. It’s five past six in the morning, and this is your first song — I Want It That Way, by the Backstreet Boys.”

Liam cues the song, and Zayn nearly collapses with relief when the music starts playing. “Oh my _God_ ,” Louis whines through his hands over his face, “no one’s going to listen to us.”

“Shut up,” Liam tells them cheerily. “You’re doing fine.”

And, it doesn’t go as badly as Zayn thought it would. It’s pretty fun, actually, if he’s admitting it to himself. 

The hour goes by without any real issues. Minus the one ‘fuck’ Louis let out, it’s been nothing but a breeze.

“Told you it would be great,” Louis says as they pack up their things.

Liam snorts, ignoring the glare Louis casts his way. Zayn rolls his eyes, putting his phone into his pocket and bag over his shoulder. A small sense of relief goes through him, when he realizes they’re done. Wonders if this is what Niall feels — or if he instead immediately starts thinking about what they’re going to do next week. 

As they make their way outside Zayn pauses, seeing a familiar figure in the parking lot. “Niall?” he calls out, the blonde haired boy leaning against Zayn’s car.

Right. He’d left it at Niall’s yesterday. Liam and Louis give a wave, a knowing look on their faces as they walk off. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a conference?” Zayn adds, walking toward him.

Niall looks up from his phone, and that’s when Zayn nearly drops his bag onto the wet pavement. “What the fuck happened to your eye?” he asks right away.

It’s bruised; puffy and noticeable as Niall scrunches his nose. “It’s, you know. It’s nothing,” he tells Zayn, though it’s hardly believable.

“You left my house at twelve thirty,” Zayn says in disbelief, “and it’s now seven in the morning. What could you have possibly done between then?”

Niall clears his throat, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He looks guilty, Zayn registers after a moment. “I, um. I did something that you’re — not going to be proud of.”

There’s a million and one possibilities, and Zayn doesn’t want to go through them all right now. “Don’t make me guess,” he croaks out, seeing Niall wince.

“When I dropped you off I didn’t go home,” Niall admits finally. Zayn stares at him. “I went to this club? For a show.”

“Naturally,” Zayn responds flatly. 

Niall sighs, rubbing a hand along his face. “James is in this stupid band. And I saw this — invite thing, on Facebook. I thought it would be a good idea to go.” Niall pauses, and Zayn knows where this is going. “I was just. So mad, Zayn. Thought I was going to punch my fist through a fucking wall.”

Zayn grips Niall’s hand. “I got there and he was just standing there. Like he didn’t do anything wrong. Like he isn’t the scum of the fucking earth —”

“Niall,” Zayn says gently. 

“Right, fuck, sorry,” Niall apologizes. “I stayed for his set, to hear how shit him and his band are.”

“And?” Zayn asks, both his hands on Niall’s waist. 

“Never heard a worse band in my entire life,” Niall says. “Which should’ve made me less angry, but it didn’t. So I waited around a bit.”

“Oh no,” Zayn says. Niall doesn’t comment on this.

“He was talking with some people after the show, and when he came over to the bar he asked me how I liked their set,” Niall continues. Zayn does his best to remain neutral, biting the inside of his cheek. “And I told him how fucking terrible it was.”

“Oh no,” Zayn repeats.

“He didn’t like that. Told me I was a fucking dick, and that I should go,” Niall says. Zayn can still see the anger in his eyes; real and fierce and not to be reckoned with. “So I told him where he could go.”

Niall’s free hand is balled up into a fist at his side, leaning his head back against the window of the car. “He punched me. I punched him back, and he went flying into a table. Knocked it over, along with some bottles. Was a real mess, honestly,” Niall says.

Zayn sighs, pressing his forehead against Niall’s temple. “I called Harry, after running out into a creepy little alley and ducking behind a garbage can. He came and got me, told me I had to come talk to you instead of going to some conference in the morning.”

“I didn’t tell you so you could have an excuse to go around punching people,” Zayn says, half serious. 

Niall groans, burying his face in Zayn’s neck — clearly embarrassed. “I know, I know. Fuck, I’m sorry,” Niall says, muffled. 

Truthfully, the visual of James being punched into a table satisfies something in Zayn. But he doesn’t say this. “Wanna come get some breakfast? I know a place,” he asks, playing with the hair at the nape of Niall’s neck.

“You asking me on a date, Malik?” Niall asks, grinning.

“Not trying to be subtle about it,” Zayn says. 

Niall laughs, bright and loud in the early morning light. Zayn finds himself staring, leaning forward and kissing him — right there in the parking lot, up against his car. It takes maybe half a second for Niall to respond, lips warm and a little cracked, but Zayn doesn’t care. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee, and Zayn thinks he could kiss Niall for the rest of his life.

“Alright,” Niall says, pulling away. His cheeks are flushed and he’s breathless, lips parted just slightly. “Going to tell me where this place is?”

Zayn shakes his head, lips pressed to Niall’s hair before getting into the driver’s seat. Not everything’s fixed yet, but it’s a start. Niall sings along with the radio as he pulls out onto the road and Zayn’s pretty sure he’s in love.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm here on [tumblaaaaaaaaaaaah](http://loueh.tumblr.com/). come say hi and chat to me about whatever your heart desires.


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